The Last Dragonlord

by Joanne Bertin

  Otter smothered a laugh and returned to his playing.

  “I’d like you to stay with Maurynna as much as possible, Otter. I’d rather she wasn’t alone when these spells take her.” The next words were hard. Linden forced them out anyway. “Sometimes … No, too damn many times fledgling Dragonlords have become so terrified they’re going mad that they commit suicide. I nearly did. Lleld and my sister stopped me. Now I’m afraid for Maurynna. Please stay with her.”

  The song faltered. “Gods help us; I never knew. Of course I’ll do that, boyo. And I’ll think of some excuse for it so she won’t get suspicious.” The bard’s fingers trilled through an intricate run on the strings as if to make up for their earlier clumsiness and continued the song. “We’ll have a problem with that, though. Maurynna and I were to part ways here in Casna. If I leave with her instead of staying, she’ll know something’s up.”

  “Damn,” Linden said. “You’re right. Damn again. What to do, then?”

  Otter chewed his mustache in thought. “Hm—perhaps I could tell her that this, while unusual, is something that sometimes happens to truehumans close to Dragonlords. I already said something like it once.”

  While Linden knew it was nonsense, it sounded as likely as anything he could think of. And if anyone could lie convincingly enough to get that bit of foolery believed, it was Otter. “Well enough. Make certain she understands that it’s only temporary, that she’s not going mad.”

  “I will. Any word yet about Tsan Rhilin?” Otter asked as the lullaby ended.

  “None. It’s as if it disappeared from the face of the earth,” Linden replied, feeling heartsick. “I still can’t believe it.”

  “I can well imagine,” Otter said. “I’m sorry; I know what it means to you.”

  Linden nodded, saying, “At least there’s some good news. Kief, Tarlna, and I are close to a decision on the regency. We want to hear a few more people out, look over the documents again, that sort of thing, but I think this will be over by the Solstice or shortly thereafter.”

  “Thank the gods,” said Otter. “When do the meetings resume?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “You’re feeling well enough for that?”

  “Yes, though I still tire more easily than I like and I sometimes get dizzy. We’ll keep the meetings short to keep Healer Tasha happy and me from falling asleep at the table. Kief’s worried that if we wait too long the factions will take matters into their own hands. I think he’s right.” Linden sat up, yawning and rubbing the back of his neck. Shan snuffled his ear; he tweaked the stallion’s lip.

  Strong white teeth clamped onto his clan braid. “Pull it, crowbait, and you’ll never get another apple,” Linden said.

  Shan considered and dropped the braid.

  “Wise horse. It has,” Linden said as he rose in one easy movement, “been entirely too quiet. Something’s brewing. I can feel it in my bones.”

  Sixty

  Tomorrow the Solstice celebrations; now was the time for preparations. Tasha meandered around her office, collecting whatever empty dosing bottles she could find. Two kettles steamed on the hearth. One held the decoction she brewed every holiday. The other held hot water. She eased this batch of small pottery bottles into the water to join their fellows and ran a practiced eye over the number in the kettle.

  Not hardly enough. I’ve a feeling there will be many more aching heads than usual after the celebrating. Bother, I want plenty of these to give out.

  She called to Jeralin scavenging in the storeroom across the hall, “Any luck?”

  “A bit. I found two baskets that had slipped behind that round-topped chest. One, hurrah, hurrah, has six empty bottles in it. The other one … A moment while I get the lid off of the basket. Ah, good! Here’s another bottle—but it’s full. Now what’s in h—” Jeralin broke off, gagging.

  Tasha ran across the hall. She found Jeralin sitting on a chest, coughing, a dosing bottle held as far as she could from her averted face.

  “That is vile,” the apprentice complained. She passed the offending bottle to Tasha’s waiting hand. “What was it once upon a time?”

  Tasha sniffed cautiously. Even that was almost enough to unsettle her stomach. “I don’t know. Whatever it was, it’s been fermenting nicely, hasn’t it? But what could it have been?” She stoppered the bottle again. There was a scent she couldn’t quite catch beneath the stink of fermentation, a scent that teased her. “There’s something odd about this. I’ll want a closer look at it later, I think.”

  Said Jeralin cheerfully, “Next mystery potion I find, I’m leaving it for Quirel to investigate when he gets back from the herb gardens.”

  Tasha nodded, hardly listening, examining the bottle in her hand. Then the girl’s words sank in and stirred up something in her mind, but to save her life Tasha couldn’t think of it. Ah, well, she’d busy herself with something else. She’d often found that when she stopped chasing an answer, the perverse thing would jump out at her. So she slung bottle, basket, and potion over her arm and went back to her office and the decoction bubbling on the hearth.

  So close to the Solstice, even at deep dusk the streets of Casna were crowded. Early revelers and late errand-runners thronged the main ways. Maurynna caught snatches from the babble of conversation as she and Otter rode through the crowds.

  “Gods, will this heat never break?” “It’s the mugginess, I minds, I tells ya. Like takin’ a bath with yer clothes on.” “Don’t care what they say out of the castle. A Dragonlord taken sick like that? It’s magic; it must be. Who knows if he’s really better?” “Gods, it’s hot!”

  They turned onto a less-traveled thoroughfare. Maurynna breathed a sigh of relief. “Too many people.”

  Otter smiled. “Easier on board ship, isn’t it?”

  “Gods, yes! And cooler, too.” Maurynna wiped her forehead and struggled for something—anything—else to say lest she fall back into the dark mood that had gripped her for the past tenday, ever since she’d last seen Linden. “Black dog on my shoulder,” she muttered.

  “Hmm?” Otter said. Then, without waiting for a reply, “He said he’d be waiting in the garden.”

  She nodded; the black dog dug his claws in deeper.

  “Have you ever been to the house? No? Likely just as well. I’m still not certain this is such a good idea, Rynna. While you’re leaving tomorrow, there are still all those candlemarks between now and then for the Fraternity to strike at you. Hopefully no one will recognize you in the dark; Linden was wise to insist upon that.”

  The black dog growled in her ear. She said, “I hate this—this sneaking about as if Linden’s ashamed of me.” Though her mind said the noblewoman’s taunt had no substance behind it, the poison of Lady Sherrine’s words still lingered in her heart.

  “Don’t be an ass. You know full well it’s not that at all. Now stop moping; we’re nearly there.”

  The bard urged his horse into a quick trot. Maurynna sighed again and followed. She wasn’t moping—not really—but ever since she’d made the decision to leave, a deep melancholy had settled upon her; despite his promise, she feared she would never see Linden again.

  So she had insisted on seeing him tonight. Perhaps if she threw the black dog this bone it would leave her alone.

  Not bloody likely.

  Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Blinking rapidly, she followed Otter into the large courtyard before Linden’s house. Servants appeared, held their horses as they dismounted and led the animals away, all without a word spoken. She noticed they never looked directly at her.

  For her protection, or for Linden’s shame?

  Otter led her to the side of the house where an arched passageway waited. Maurynna stared around her as she walked down the long passage. A lattice of thin stakes rose on either side to meet over her head. Roses fountained over it; their sweet scent wrapped her in a cloak of perfume that nearly overwhelmed her.

  “Good gods!” she said, stifling an urge to sn
eeze. “I know Cassorins are mad about roses, but this is—”

  “A bit much?” Otter finished with a chuckle. “Ask Linden to show you the maze when we find him.”

  “The maze?”

  “You’ll see. Ah! I see a glow ahead—looks like coldfire. Thank the gods; we’re nearly out of here, then. I like roses as much as another, but this is ridiculous—especially on such a muggy night as this. Damn near enough to knock you off your feet.”

  They emerged into the garden. Maurynna caught her breath in wonder.

  The garden was filled with animals. For one bemused moment she thought they were real. Then she realized that they were formed of living trees and bushes. She turned slowly as she walked, determined see as many as she could. A bold mouse, almost an ell high, watched her. Two ferrets played together while a brushy hare sat nearby. A stag touched noses with a wolf. There was even a goose chasing a fox across the lawn; one more step and it would have the fox’s tail.

  “That one’s my favorite,” a deep voice said behind her. “Pity the poor fox!”

  She turned into Linden’s arms. He held her tightly, nearly crushing her, before letting go a heartbeat later.

  He gestured and the coldfire at his shoulder fled to hover above a small table set between benches of white marble. A silver pitcher and three goblets waited for them. “Shall we sit?” Linden said. They followed him to the table.

  “I’ve a better idea,” said Otter as he poured wine for the three of them.

  Maurynna took hers in silence, waiting for Otter to finish. The bard unslung the harp from his back.

  “Why,” Otter said as he deftly unpacked his harp, “don’t you show Rynna the rose maze while I sit here and play?”

  She nearly kissed him. Her black mood lightened; more than anything she had wanted time alone with Linden—and now Otter was gifting her with it. But what if Linden didn’t feel the same way? Perhaps—

  The feeling in the Dragonlord’s quiet “Thank you” set the black dog yipping into the night. She smiled up at Linden, lighthearted for the first time in days.

  They left Otter sitting on one of the benches, the coldfire dancing above him as he tuned the harp. Linden led her past more topiary animals, going deeper and deeper into the garden. He suddenly stopped, a faraway expression on his face, as the first notes of a song rose into the night.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  “No.” He hesitated, then said, “I taught Otter that song nearly forty years ago; the tune is an old one—old even when I was young. Rani learned it in a dream from … from Satha—”

  His voice faltered and Maurynna remembered Otter’s warning to never ask about the undead Kelnethi harper. But Linden continued as if nothing had happened. “Bram wrote the words for her when they realized that they had to part for good.”

  He fell silent. Maurynna went cold inside; was the song meant for a warning? Before she could speak, he slipped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close as they walked on.

  “Thank the gods,” he said, “for us it’s just a sad but pretty song.” He ducked his head. “I helped Bram with it a bit,” he confessed shyly. “Not very much—just a little.”

  “But you helped,” Maurynna said. Her arm crept around his waist; she rested her head against his shoulder, at peace now. The thought of leaving still made her sad, but she no longer feared she would never see him again. “What is this maze?”

  “This.” He pointed to a wall of roses before them that curved away to either side. “It’s not truly a maze, since there’s only one path; it just twists and turns upon itself as it goes to the center of the circle. The opening’s this way.”

  He guided her to the right. “At least these roses aren’t as heavily scented as the others in the passageway—or perhaps it’s just easier to bear because there’s no ‘roof’ to this; it’s open to the sky. But come inside.”

  She followed him, curious. He sent a ball of coldfire ahead of them. The curving path was wide; three men walking abreast could fit between the hedges that rose above Linden’s head. It turned abruptly and doubled back on itself as he had predicted. Maurynna soon lost track of how many turns they had taken and which direction they walked in at any moment.

  He didn’t speak as they moved deeper into the maze. Time ceased to exist for Maurynna; it stretched on and on as it might in a dream.

  Then all at once it was over; they reached the center. It was larger than Maurynna had expected, but empty. She didn’t know what she had thought to find—but it wasn’t a lawn of apple-scented chamomile.

  She broke the silence. “Odd; I would have thought a bench at the least.”

  He moved away from her to the center of the lawn. The full moon shone down on him; he looked like a statue made of silver. Then he held out his hand and broke the illusion. “Sit with me.”

  She joined him. For a time they listened to Otter’s harping. She rested her head on Linden’s shoulder once more as he stroked her hair. Then he pulled her close and kissed her long and gently before releasing her.

  She pulled back slightly, studying him. “Linden, I—I don’t want to leave.”

  “I don’t want you to, either, Maurynna, but it’s safest. Otter said that your hold was filled three days ago. It would have been best if you’d left then. Why did you wait?” he asked.

  She smiled. “My aunt asked me to stay. You see, the Solstice is my birthday, and I’ve never celebrated it with my family here. So we’ll have a small feast in the afternoon and then I’ll sail with the tide at dusk.”

  “Your birth—that wretch! He never told me!” Linden growled something in a language she didn’t recognize and flopped back onto the grass. “Blast it; I wish I’d known.”

  She laughed and stretched out alongside him. “At least Otter didn’t do what he’d threatened me with on board the Sea Mist.”

  “And what was that?”

  “Make me wait until my birthday to meet you.”

  Linden rolled onto his side so that he loomed over her. “I would have had his head for that.”

  She touched his face. He smiled, a little sadly. “So little time, Maurynna-love.”

  “We’d best not waste it, then,” she said and pulled him down for a kiss.

  The night was quiet and still, the air heavy with unshed rain as Althume walked through the halls of Prince Peridaen’s estate. He had no fear of anyone thinking it odd; wasn’t Peridaen’s faithful steward often up late at night tending to his master’s business?

  As he certainly was—in a manner of speaking. Althume held up his hand, letting the amethyst pendant dangle from the gold chain wrapped around his fingers. Time to return this pretty to its place on Peridaen’s dressing table now that he was done with it. Then on to other business this night.

  In a less savory part of Casna, Eel watched from the shadows. The little thief had marked his target—a burly man with a hard, square face, dressed well, and an air of prosperity if not riches—but now the man was talking to Nobbie, one of the many whores out this night plying the Solstice crowds.

  Eel considered. He could nip in, cut the man’s belt pouch free while the fellow was distracted by Nobbie, but that would mean the little prostitute would be out a fee. Worse, the man might think Nobs part of a scheme to rob him, and beat the living daylights out of the boy.

  No, let Nobbie have this one. The boy was a friend and Eel didn’t want him hurt. The thief watched whore and customer conclude their negotiations and go off together instead of slipping deeper into the alley to conduct their business.

  Likes it private, I guess. Wonder which tavern the gent’s got a room at? Eel wondered idly as he set off to find another mark.

  Invisibility was an art, but a simple matter if one were subtle. There was no need for the stuff of ignorant tales, enchanted cloaks and helms or the like. And certainly no need of mystical chants and waving of wands, the overwrought display of fire and noise that was the mark of the poorly trained—and weak—mage.

 
; A very simple thing indeed was invisibility. One did not, of course, actually become invisible. That was a waste of magical energy. Invisibility was merely the art of turning aside people’s minds.

  Which was exactly what Althume did as he walked through the palace that night. At this hour there were few people about; most of the nobles were still in the great hall. Those few who were in this wing of the palace were sleepy-eyed servants. It was child’s play to Althume to turn their minds away from him. They might look straight at him, but he made no more of a ripple in their consciousness as they stepped aside for him than would a shark gliding through a midnight sea.

  That he had kept himself inconspicuous all his time in Casna helped; “Peridaen’s shadow” some called him. Ever the faithful steward waiting silently for his master’s order.

  Bah. But soon he would have his due as the greatest of mages, though the full truth would be known to only a few. He shifted the burden he carried from the crook of one elbow to the other.

  A few minutes more brought him to the junction of this hall and a second. Beyond lay the chambers he sought. Two guards stood before the door. Althume stopped in the shadows.

  Turning aside the minds of the serving cattle was one thing; trained soldiers were quite another. To make them ignore him and the opening of the door they guarded was a chancy thing at best. He could do it, but it would take more mage energy than he cared to expend.

  He had more important uses for it. Time to see if the servant the scrying bowl showed him was still there.

  Althume sent out a tendril of magic. He touched the mind of the servant: an old man, somewhat infirm of wit and body, but kept on for reasons of sentiment. Althume curled his lip at such weakness. To seize control of the man was simpler than a child’s game of ring-toss. The mage left the shadows, carefully timing his arrival at the door.