Bard's Oath (Dragonlord)

by Joanne Bertin

  “I’ve sent you notes telling you where to meet me and you haven’t come,” he said, his voice low and angry now. “Why not? And what the hell do you mean, sending word by Coryn that I’m to stop?” He advanced upon her again, step by slow, menacing step, like a wolf stalking its prey.

  She managed to say, “It’s over, Tir. Though did it ever truly begin? You aren’t the man you led me to believe you were. That man I could have—”

  “Over? What do you mean, ‘over’? It’s not over unless I say it is,” he snarled. “And it’s not.”

  He began cursing her. She stood frozen, too shocked to speak, too stunned to move as with every hateful word Tirael destroyed the last hope she’d held in her heart. He hadn’t even heard that he might be the one at fault; he’d heard only what was important to him. Her father had been right.

  The cursing stopped. “You’re coming with me or—”

  She didn’t know if he laid his hand on his belt knife deliberately or by chance. But the sight was enough to break her paralysis. She screamed and turned to run. Her foot caught in her long skirts and she fell. She twisted around to face him, terrified, as he loomed over her.

  The door to the terrace opened. “Lady Merrilee? What’s wrong?” Shima Ilyathan called as he ran outside.

  But when Merrilee looked back, Tirael was already gone. She realized that he must have fled at the first glimpse of light escaping through the opening door. She didn’t know whether to be sorry he’d escaped—Merrilee was certain he would have had no chance in a fight against the newest Dragonlord—or relieved that Tirael was gone.

  Shima Ilyathan knelt by her, his brow wrinkled in concern. “Lady Merrilee, what happened?” he asked as he helped her up. “Karelinn asked me to find you out here, then I heard you scream.”

  She shook out her skirts and tried to collect herself, not sure of what to do. A small, traitorous part of her still cared about Tirael—or at least the Tirael she’d thought she knew. For the sake of that Tirael, she would tell no tales this one time.

  “It was a bat,” she said with a laugh. It sounded brittle even to her own ears. “Just a bat. It swooped by my head and frightened me. And silly goose that I am, I screamed and tripped over my own skirts trying to run away.”

  She laid a hand on his arm and smiled. “Please don’t tell my sister or father. I feel like such a fool to be both so clumsy and so easily frightened.”

  For a long moment she thought he would refuse. Then he nodded. “Very well, my lady,” he said slowly. “Very well.”

  Shima Ilyathan escorted her inside. To her surprise, Lord Eadain was waiting just beyond the door. He leaned heavily on his crutches. The Dragonlord came to a stop before the crippled young lord.

  “I must return to Karelinn and tell her that her sister is well,” Shima Ilyathan said to Eadain. “Will you see to Lady Merrilee?” He smiled.

  “Gladly,” Eadain replied with an answering smile. “If she’ll have me.” He turned to look at her.

  The kindness and … yes, love … in that gaze steadied her. “Of course,” she said softly.

  The Dragonlord bowed to both of them and slipped into the crowd. Wordlessly, Eadain made his way to one of the shadowed nooks that edged the large dance floor. They stood together, watching the dancers move in a stately pavane across the floor. She marveled at how safe being with him made her feel. She remembered her first sight of him, how gently he’d cradled the wet, miserable kitten he’d found in the rainstorm.

  And would Tirael have held Soot so carefully? Would he even have stopped for a kitten?

  She was certain she knew the answer, now. It saddened her.

  As if he’d heard her thinking about the kitten, Eadain turned to her and asked, “How is Soot faring these days, my lady?”

  “Very well indeed, my lord. He’s made a slave of my maids. They’d roll balls of yarn across the floor for him by the candlemark if they could.” She glanced at him.

  He smiled at that. It always surprised her how young he looked when he smiled, how it lit up his warm brown eyes.

  “And you, my lady? Are you well?” he asked, his voice gentle.

  For a moment, she was silent. Then, looking steadily into that warm gaze, she smiled and said, “Yes, Eadain. I am well, and safe … now.”

  He held out his hand; it trembled slightly. She laid hers in his without hesitation. Together they turned to watch the dancers once more, their fingers intertwined.

  Thirty-one

  Fiarin pushed them hard, barely allowing them time to eat or rest until one day, as the sun was sinking, the woods ended abruptly. Before them lay two lakes, separated from each other by a brush-covered esker that snaked between them. They had emerged from the woods before the right-hand lake. The water looked dark and mysterious.

  As if the sight of the lakes and the esker were some sort of signal, Fiarin stopped. He stood staring at them as if searching for some sign or omen. He stood for so long that the light faded from the sky. Behind him Pod and Kaeliss, not knowing what Fiarin’s strange behavior portended but thankful for the respite, sank down to the ground and rested. Behind them they heard the last birds sleepily calling each other to bed.

  Pod slapped at a mosquito that had landed on her arm. The noise cut sharply through the growing silence. All at once Fiarin shook himself like a man waking from a deep sleep. He turned to them.

  “We’ll make camp in the woods. Tomorrow…” He turned his back on the lakes and went back up the faint path they had made.

  The two young women exchanged worried looks as they followed him back into the forest. What was all this about? And what were they to do tomorrow?

  Pod shook her head. At least they didn’t have to go far to get water, she thought gloomily. Leaving Kaeliss to break dried meat into the little pot, she set off to fetch water for their stew. On her way back to the lake she spotted some wild leeks and paused to dig up the bulbs to add to the pot. She was so tired she kept yawning as she washed them.

  Hope I can stay awake long enough to eat.

  She managed it—but barely. As soon as she could, Pod unrolled her blankets and settled down by the fire. Kaeliss did the same.

  But Fiarin kept walking down to the edge of the lake and staring across it. Then he’d walk back to sit and stare into the fire, muttering all the while to himself; it sounded oddly like an argument.

  During one of his absences Pod asked softly, “What in the name of all the gods is the matter with him? And is this the usual way of a training journey?”

  “I’ve no idea what’s wrong with Fiarin,” Kaeliss whispered back. “And I don’t think this is how it’s supposed to be. I talked to some of the older apprentices before I left. They said it was ‘Look at this, learn that, what’s this and what does it do’ all day long, every day. Some teachers will even wake you up in the middle of the night and demand all the different names for hedgemaid before you’re really awake. And I’d heard that Fiarin, for all that he was generous with his knowledge, was one of the worst for that sort of thing!”

  Pod considered the other girl’s words. Something was very, very wrong. At last she said, “Do you think he’s gone mad?”

  Kaeliss shivered despite the heat. “I don’t know. All I know is that he’s frightening me. He’s never been like this before—not that I know him well, he’s usually off on a trek, but … If he is mad, what can we do?”

  “I don’t know. Do you know where we are?”

  “I’ve no idea. Remember, I’m from Pelnar. I haven’t been here long enough to really learn all the towns and villages and what-have-you in Kelneth. What about you?”

  “The same, save that I’m from the south of Yerrih, near the Kelnethi border. This is the first real journey I’ve ever taken. I haven’t left Grey Holt—not really—since I was brought there.”

  They sat, gloomily staring into the dying fire. Then Kaeliss said, “Wait—I do remember someone talking about a village. Someone said we might stop there when the treks were done.�
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  Hope blossomed in Pod’s heart. “Oh?” She waited, hardly daring to breathe.

  A long silence, then Kaeliss screwed up her face in disgust. “But can I remember the name? No—just that it’s Little Something-or-other. And more importantly, I can’t remember where it is. There was something about it, though. Some of the ’prentices didn’t want to go there, but I didn’t pay much attention.”

  Pod bit her tongue so that she wouldn’t snap Kaeliss’s head off. Why get her hopes up only to squash them the next moment? Yet it was no use taking it out on Kaeliss; the other girl was just as uneasy as she. Nor would giving way to her nerves help them. Still, all she wanted to do was dash off into the woods—anything to get away from Fiarin and his burning eyes.

  Suddenly Kaeliss cocked her head to one side and held up a hand. “Shhh! He’s coming back!”

  An instant later they were wrapped up in their blankets, feigning sleep as Fiarin stalked into the camp.

  For a long time he stared into the embers, then finally unrolled his blankets. Pod, watching through slitted eyes, thought he was going to sleep at last.

  Thank the gods! All this coming and going was making Kiga restless—so of course I can’t get to sleep either. And maybe when he wakes this fit will have passed.

  But Fiarin stood up once more and walked down to the water. Ready to scream in exasperation, Pod squinched her eyes shut and told herself she didn’t care what Fiarin did anymore, she wasn’t going to pay attention, he could go soak his head for all it mattered to her.

  But tomorrow … If this madness didn’t cease by the morning, she’d, she’d … Pod wasn’t certain what she’d do—after all, Fiarin was a master and apprentices obeyed masters without question. True, Fiarin wasn’t a master in her guild, but she knew that for this training, she was supposed to accord him the same respect and obedience she’d give any master of the Beast Healers.

  Still—something had to be done.

  She was drifting off when he came back. As if from a great distance, she heard him get into his blankets; then, so softly that she wasn’t certain her ears weren’t playing her tricks, he whispered, “We can’t lose Master Emberlin, nor will you best me, Currin.”

  What an odd thing to say, she thought dreamily. How very, very … Before she could finish the thought, Pod fell asleep.

  Thirty-two

  Therinn Barans, Lord Lenslee of Lenslee, put his hands in the small of his back and stretched. He took a deep breath of the cool early morning air.

  “Ah, that feels good!” he said contentedly. “And even better to be here. It was good to reach your manor, coz, but it’s best to be here at the fair proper at last. I’ve been waiting for this.”

  He stood with his kinsman, Ridler Barans, Lord Portis, as they watched his prize stallion, Summer Lightning, trot majestically around his paddock. The sun shone on the burnished copper of his coat.

  “Mm” was all Ridler answered.

  Therinn turned and studied his kinsman. A frown wrinkled the other man’s forehead and he looked distracted. Nor would Ridler meet Therinn’s eyes, keeping his gaze instead on the horse.

  “What is it? You’ve had something on your mind ever since Lord Dunly left, old fellow. Out with it,” Therinn said.

  He was glad Dunly hadn’t insisted on dragging him off for that “little meeting” as well. Dunly was a bore. Still, ever since the old meddler had pounced upon Ridler almost as soon as they’d ridden in to the fair, something had been preying upon his kinsman’s mind. “Out with it,” he repeated.

  For a long moment he thought the older man would refuse to answer. Oh gods—don’t tell me Tirael’s gotten himself into trouble yet again. It’s a wonder Ridler isn’t greyer than he is. He resisted the urge to shake his head in disgust at the thought of his younger kinsman. The gods knew that Tirael had caused enough trouble for him once upon a time.…

  “You’ve heard the rumor going about?” Ridler said abruptly.

  “Eh? Rumor? What rumor?” Whatever they’re saying about Tirael, it’s most likely true—if it isn’t even worse, he thought cynically as he watched Summer Lightning once more. Gods, he is so beautiful. And he’ll pay off that debt that Tirael—

  Ridler cleared his throat. He still wouldn’t look at Therinn. “About—about a Llysanyin at the fair.”

  Hmm—that was an odd way of putting it. Ordinarily one would say “a Dragonlord at the fair.” Any listener would then assume that there was a good chance of a Llysanyin as well. Still, it was no rumor about Dragonlords; there were some here. Ridler had met one of them, Linden Rathan, at Sevrynel’s.

  He said as much to his cousin, adding, “I’d heard they rode in. So that means Llysanyins, yes?”

  Another long silence; then, “Ye-e-ss. The three youngest Dragonlords are here and their Llysanyins with them. But that’s not what I meant. I meant a Llysanyin … with a truehuman rider.”

  That made no sense. “That’s impossible! No Llysanyin would—”

  “‘Dragon and Phoenix.’” The words were barely more than a whisper. Ridler cleared this throat again. “You’ve heard the song, haven’t you?”

  Therinn nodded slowly. He’d heard it, yes, though he was not certain of all the details. He did seem to remember something about Llysanyins and truehumans. But surely that part of it was simply bardic embellishment.…

  “It’s said that the rider—a fellow named Raven Redhawkson—is the partner of one of the Yerrin horse breeders.”

  “What? Which one?” Therinn snapped.

  “Yarrow Whitethorndaughter.”

  Therinn went cold at the name. Not only was that peasant Whitethorndaughter a breeder of some renown, but she was also the bitch who’d gotten the best of Sansy’s broodmares before he’d even heard that Sansy was breaking up the herd. By the time he’d gotten wind of it, only the dregs were left; he hadn’t bothered with them. Not that it was likely Sansy would have sold him anything—let alone the best mares—after what happened to Sansy’s nephew.…

  But that Yerrin bitch with those mares and a Llysanyin stallion? “Wait—mare or stallion?”

  “Stallion,” Ridler said with a sigh.

  Therinn cursed loud and long. He spun away from the fence, nearly tripping over a boy who bore a yoke and a pair of water buckets was passing behind him. “Get out of my way, brat!” he snapped, and aimed a slap at the boy.

  The lad squeaked in surprise, ducked, and scurried off, sloshing water everywhere.

  “Robie!” Ridler called after him. “Get a broom and sweep the water off these cobblestones now!”

  Still cursing, Therinn strode off to the house. He had to think about this. Besides, he had people coming to meet him, seeking his permission to breed their mares to Summer Lightning, ready to pay him gold for the privilege. Gold that he needed, damn it all.

  “Ridler, tell me everything you know. Is it certain that the horse is really a Llysanyin? Could it be a cheat?”

  Relief flooded him. That was it: It was a cheat. It had to be.

  * * *

  Maurynna rode hard for the castle. The guards must have been watching for her; the gates swung open as Boreal thundered up to them.

  An instant later his hooves struck sparks from the cobbles as he clattered to a halt. Maurynna swung down from the saddle even before he stopped. She saw Duchess Beryl waiting for her.

  Beryl rushed up to her, wringing her hands. “Thank the gods you could come so quickly, Maurynna Kyrissaean! Please—this way!”

  The little duchess bustled ahead of Maurynna, who followed, worry making a cold ball of ice in the pit of her stomach.

  “My lady, what’s wrong with my cousin? Has Healer Tasha seen her yet?”

  Beryl looked over her shoulder. “Healer Tasha stayed in Casna, Dragonlord. Duchess Alinya caught the lung sickness this past winter and has been doing poorly ever since, so we all deemed it best that Tasha stay with her. Since Rann’s doing so well these days—quite a normal little boy—we thought little of it. Perhaps y
ou remember Quirel? He’s Tasha’s apprentice.”

  “Yes—he’s the Simpler, isn’t he?”

  “Just so. Tasha sent him with us so that we would not be quite unprepared. He’s been to see Kella and cannot for the life of him figure out what’s ailing her,” the duchess said over her shoulder.

  “Hold for a moment,” Maurynna said, laying a hand on the duchess’s shoulder. “Please, tell me what you know. The message said she wasn’t ill or injured, but didn’t say what was amiss. Did something happen? What brought this on?”

  Beryl stopped in the middle of the hall. She waved everyone away from them and looked up at Maurynna. “We don’t know,” she said. “We just don’t know.

  “I apologize that you were not told sooner about this, Maurynna Kyrissaean, but truly, Beren and I only found out this morning ourselves! There’s so much coming and going because of the fair.…”

  She drew herself up. “It would seem that something happened yesterday that upset Kella greatly. She won’t tell us what. She won’t even tell Rann what it is—and they tell each other everything.

  “This is what little we’ve been able to discover: Sometime yesterday afternoon, Rann and Kella went their separate ways. Rann asked Bard Leet to go with him to get a song from Shima Ilyathan, something he’d heard him sing.”

  Maurynna nodded. He’d been humming their first morning at the castle and Kella had asked what it was. “I remember. It was a lullaby he sang for all of us—Kella thought it was pretty.”

  “So did Rann. He wants to learn it to play for Alinya, bless the boy, though the poor song will never be the same. Anyway, we found him in the garden asleep, with Shima Ilyathan and Bard Leet talking about the songs of His Grace’s land. There was a feast that required Rann’s presence, so his governess and I quickly hustled him off to get ready.”

  The duchess sighed heavily. “I’m ashamed to say that none of us thought about Kella, Dragonlord. We all assumed that she would do what she usually does when Rann attends a court function: borrow Rann’s harp and practice in her room. I don’t know if you know this, Dragonlord, but Bard Daera—who teaches the children—says that Kella has real talent and should be tested at the Bards’ School in Bylith.”