Bard's Oath (Dragonlord)

by Joanne Bertin

  She fell to her knees beside him and hugged him. Burying her face in his filthy, matted fur, she cried with joy. For his part, Kiga whuffled and whimpered as he tried to fit his bulk into her lap.

  At last she looked up at Linden Rathan. “Did Conor send you to look for us, Your Grace? How did he know we were in trouble?”

  Linden Rathan shook his head. “I had no idea you were here or in danger. That I found you was a gift from the gods. I came searching for this,” he said, and pointed to the stump.

  Kaeliss joined them now. “A stump? But why, Your Grace? What is it?”

  “It was,” Linden Rathan answered slowly, “a witch spruce.” He passed his hand over his eyes. “The witch spruce that was planted over Gull the Blood Drinker to trap his soul.”

  Sixty-two

  Suddenly weary beyond belief, Linden looked around the glade. A splash of color caught his eye: red flowers scattered across a trail of crushed mushrooms.

  Kiga squirmed off of Pod’s lap and loped across to him. Then the ghulon rolled over onto his foot, begging to have its stomach rubbed. Without thinking, Linden bent to indulge it. The movement made his arm throb.

  “We need to leave here. Now,” he said as he stood up. “There’s another clearing, a large one near here. We’ll go there.”

  He led the way, grimacing at the pain in his right ankle. From the feel of it, it was sprained. If Maurynna ever found out he’d let himself drop from so high up, she’d be furious. He was lucky he hadn’t broken a leg or worse.

  Linden glanced over his shoulder. The young woman with the splinted arm walked behind him, with Pod following her, and Kiga as rear guard. “And what is your name, young Wort Hunter?” he asked.

  “Kaeliss, Dragonlord,” came the shy answer. “Kaeliss Ageslin.”

  “Well and well, Kaeliss Ageslin, the place we’re making for is large enough for me to Change, as this is not. And even if it were, I’ll not have the evil here touch my own magic.

  “Once I’ve Changed, I can use a dragon’s Healing fire on that arm.”

  The girl’s eyes lit with excitement.

  He examined his own arm. The sleeve was slashed open and blood oozed sluggishly from a cut on his arm. He’d taken worse when he was a mercenary, he decided. When they were away from this foul place, he’d ask Pod to bandage it.

  While they walked, Pod and Kaeliss took turns telling him their tale until they reached the ruins of Worton.

  Linden shook his head. Even if he meant well, it was damned irresponsible of that Fiarin, taking two young women—hellfire; Pod’s still a girl—into such a place. But the gods had already levied punishment upon him; Linden would think no more ill of the man.

  Now his arm throbbed painfully and he cursed under his breath in Yerrin. Curious, he looked at the cut; it hadn’t seemed deep enough to hurt so much.

  The flesh looked red and inflamed. Odd; I’ve had worse. So why—damnation! Could the bastard have had poison on the blade?

  “What is it?” Pod asked. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m wondering if the blade was tainted,” Linden said.

  Kaeliss bit her lip. “It might well be. Arlim was an expert on herbs and could concoct many medicines as well as a Simpler.” She tugged one-handed at a pack. “I could make a poultice of—”

  “Not yet. After I’ve Changed back into human form.” He sent the two girls to wait by the edge of the forest, warning Pod to keep a good hold on Kiga.

  He loped to the center of the clearing, wondering if he’d get back to Balyaranna in time. Tomorrow was the last day of grace for Raven.

  Linden shook his head. Time to worry later; first he had to get Pod and her friend to safety. So he stood quietly, letting go of the evil he’d seen, putting aside his pain, the fear of poison, reaching within himself and finding the peace he needed. When it filled him, he let himself flow into Change.

  Kaeliss squealed in surprise. Pod made no sound, but her eyes were huge and so was her smile.

  A heartbeat later, he stretched his long neck around. Kaeliss, he said, come stand before me. Pod, we might as well do something about all those scratches, so get yourself over here as well.

  The two young women came to stand before him. “I’d always wondered if I’d dreamed seeing you in dragon form,” Pod said. “I was so young.…”

  So you were, yet you weren’t afraid then, either. Now off with that splint.… Good—now hold fast, brave hearts, and don’t be afraid.

  With that Linden opened his mouth and let the blue-green flames of a dragon’s Healing fire wash over Pod and Kaeliss. A heartbeat later it was over; Kaeliss moved her arm this way and that as if she couldn’t believe it was healed and Pod looked at her arms and patted her face, then whooped in delight.

  “Thank you! I hadn’t realized how much they stung until we stopped.”

  Good. Now if you’ll both move back once more, I—

  “No,” Pod said firmly. “It’s my turn.” And she held her hands above the scratch that looked so insignificant on a dragon’s foreleg.

  Pod—no! After what happened to you trying to Heal Fiarin, I forbid it!

  She grinned impudently up at him as the Healing haze blossomed around her hands. “But you’re not human now, are you?”

  There was a burst of warmth, the haze disappeared, and Pod pulled her hands back. The scratch was gone.

  Linden laughed, a deep hough! that sent smoke curling from his nostrils. Who would have guessed?

  “Now that ankle,” Pod ordered.

  Amused at her stern tone, Linden meekly stretched his hind leg out. Once more a green haze flowed from Pod’s hands, and a welcome burst of warmth erased the pain in his leg.

  She stepped back and set her hands on her hips. “There! That’s done.”

  My thanks, Pod of Grey Holt. Now I must return as quickly as I can first to Bylith, then to Balyaranna. A friend there is in grave danger and what I’ve learned here might save him.

  Two alarmed faces looked up at him. Kiga, who had come to join his person, sensed Pod’s fright and whined.

  Linden went on, But I can’t leave you two here; one evil is gone, but these woods are still tainted. So—Pod, can you pick up Kiga and hold tight to him? Good. I’m taking you two directly to the nearest Healwort chapterhouse. I know where that is. Very well—let us be off!

  With that, he carefully caught up the two apprentices and the ghulon, cradling them in his forelegs. Then he reared up and with a massive leap, launched himself into the air.

  Shrieks of excitement and glee filled his ears as he spiraled up into the sky. He listened with amusement as Pod and Kaeliss excitedly pointed things out to each other as he flew. Kiga seemed content to be cradled in his person’s arms. For that Linden silently thanked the gods. He didn’t think even a ghulon’s claws could cut through his scales, but it was not a thing he wished to test right now.

  * * *

  Dawn was breaking when Linden spotted the chapterhouse. He circled the compound to the excitement of the early risers below. Then, at Kaeliss’s direction, he landed in an empty pasture. He set Pod and Kaeliss down; Kiga wriggled free and thumped to the ground with a relieved whuff!

  You’re safe now, Linden said. And I must go. Run!

  They ran. Linden waited, begrudging every moment, but he wanted them well away; the blast of air from his wings could well knock them over. No sense Healing them just to hurt them again, he told himself.

  At the edge of the pasture, Pod stopped. Hands to mouth, she shouted, “Give Conor my love!” Then she hopped the fence.

  Linden roared in reply and leapt back into the air as the first astonished Worties reached the two young women. An instant later he was racing through the sky to Bylith.

  As he flew, he considered all that he’d learned. He’d been right: the witch spruce planted over one of the most heinous killers he’d ever heard of was gone, may the gods help them all. That dark soul roamed the earth once more, to live—and kill—again. For the tree of warding
had been cut down not by mistake, but to become the dark, twisted soul of a harp; a harp used to snare others within its evil.

  Arlim had been as much a victim as those he’d killed. And in the end, he’d paid with his life as well.

  But Leet … He had set all this in motion without regard for anyone or anything. Yet … why had he done this?

  In the end, it didn’t matter. He’ll pay for this, Linden vowed as he flew. No matter what it takes—Leet will pay.

  He needed to speak with Charilon as soon as he reached Bylith. Then it was time for another visit to the house of Thomelin the luthier.

  * * *

  Once more Linden found himself riding Nightsong through the streets of Bylith. But this time he rode with a picked group of the city guards, their captain at his side.

  They rode in silence. Linden turned over in his mind the things Charilon had told him about Leet, the tales and rumors still whispered in the village they had both come from.

  None of it excused what Leet had done; it merely added cowardice to his already foul deeds.

  They reached the luthier’s house. “Clear everyone from the workroom,” Linden ordered. He watched the men enter the workshop.

  He waited outside until one of the men gave him a sign. Once inside, he stared at the table over the hiding place. Suddenly the image of the pile of bloodstained clothing in Arlim’s hut filled his mind. With a blistering curse, Linden did what he seldom allowed himself to do: become enraged.

  He grabbed the edge of the table and heaved. The bolts ripped out of the floor with a shriek. He tossed the heavy oaken table easily across the room. More than one of the soldiers watching muttered something between a curse and a prayer.

  Now it was time to face what was left of Gull the Blood Drinker’s soul.

  Sixty-three

  “What do you mean, ‘Maurynna’s gone’?” Raven demanded. “She said she would stay while Linden and Shima went on their missions!” He sank down onto his narrow bed, his knees weak with terror. “It’s the last day,” he whispered. “Tomorrow they’ll, they’ll—”

  “I’m sorry, lad,” his great-uncle said gently. It was clear from Otter’s voice that he was just as baffled by Maurynna’s seeming desertion—and just as afraid. “The servants said that she left in the middle of the night.”

  Raven buried his head in his hands. Had she abandoned him? Did she know his cause was hopeless and fled because she couldn’t stand to see her best friend hang? He rocked back and forth, feeling sick, hardly hearing his great-uncle’s words of comfort.

  “Perhaps Linden mindcalled her and sent her off to lo—aauuggghhh!”

  Apologies, Otter—I didn’t mean to scare you like that. I didn’t even know you were in there. I just wanted to make certain that Raven hadn’t … gone somewhere.

  Raven slowly looked up and stared at the window. He was dreaming. He had to be. It was simply not possible that a dragon was looking in at one of the cell’s windows, fiery red scales glittering in the early sunlight. Not possible at—

  Then he recognized the dragon. It was possible. “Lleld!”

  Hello! Lleld said cheerfully. Shima will be here soon—he’s still tired and flying more slowly than is his wont. I came ahead just to make certain no one here got any … ideas.

  He still couldn’t believe it. Surely his eyes and mind were playing tricks on him. He’d dreamed of a rescue like this. No, he wasn’t really seeing a dragon’s head in that window, with what he could see of the neck going up and up to—

  “Are you sitting on the roof?”

  As best I can. At least it’s one of those rounded ones. They’re not too bad. The pointy ones poke you in the stomach. Now that I know you’re safe, I’m going to land. The books are slipping and I’m getting the most gods-rotted kink in my neck stretching down to look in at you.

  With that, Lleld’s head disappeared. Raven ran to the window, barely beating his great-uncle to it, in time to see her glide to the castle courtyard. He caught a glimpse of a couple of small bundles clutched in one foreleg as she spiraled down.

  Raven turned to Otter as the first stirrings of hope rose again. A huge smile spread across his face.

  But his great-uncle was still watching Lleld. “What I want to know,” he said, “is how she knows the ‘pointy ones poke you in the stomach.’”

  * * *

  The courtroom was filled nigh to bursting. Even the balcony was packed. They would be fortunate if someone didn’t fall off before the day was through, Raven thought. He clasped his hands in his lap. At least this time they didn’t strap me down.

  To his partial relief, Otter, Lleld, and a very tired-looking Shima sat right in the front. Conor sat behind them. Lleld held a large book on her lap, now and again running her thumb across the leather cover.

  The only two empty seats in the room were to Shima’s left. So where are Maurynna and Linden? Especially Maurynna? Raven searched the crowd for them. They were not in the room—but someone else was. Once again Bard Leet smiled at him, a tiny smile of cold amusement, gone an instant later.

  Why does he hate me? What have I ever done to him?

  Then Lord Asiah, the Justice of Balyaranna, entered the room. He went straight to the podium and rapped his staff against the floor. “I call Priestess Aelwitha to the witness’s chair.”

  Shuffling sounds came from the witnesses’ balcony. Coming slowly down the stairs was an old woman dressed in the black robes of a priestess of the Crone, her face wrinkled as a winter apple beneath the distinctive gable hood of her calling. She carried something wrapped in cloth. Around her waist was a belt of links. Links that were small silver skulls.…

  Raven stared at her in horror. What was a lich priestess doing here? By all the gods, weren’t they at least going to let the Dragonlords present their case for him? Were they planning to just pass sentence, hang him, and give his body straight to her?

  Calm down! Lleld said in his mind. Gods—with a face that easy to read, I hope you leave the horse trading to your aunt. The priestess isn’t here for you.

  How do you know?

  Because executed murderers don’t go to the Crone for the ritual washing and anointing, remember? They’re cast straight into a pit of quicklime. Now get hold of yourself. Linden is on his way. He’s flying as fast as he can, he said, Lleld said confidently.

  But where’s Rynna? he asked in despair.

  The cheerful confidence wavered. I don’t know, Lleld said softly. No one knows.

  Lord Asiah assisted the priestess to the chair and handed her into it. Once more he thumped the floor with his staff. Silence fell upon the room.

  “Something of interest has been brought to my attention. While I do not believe it has any bearing upon this case, it is seems to contradict certain facts that had been presented to this court before. Priestess?”

  The priestess sat up straight, her wrinkled face serene. “I am ready, my lord,” she answered in a thin, reedy voice.

  Lord Asiah said, “Your name, priestess?”

  “I am Aelwitha, a lich priestess of the Crone at her temple here in Balyaranna.”

  “You were one of those who prepared Lord Tirael for his burial, are you not?”

  Lady Portis buried her face in her hands. “My boy. My poor bonny boy…” She wept softly.

  Priestess Aelwitha looked at her sympathetically and sketched a sign of blessing. The air shimmered for a moment. “I am. A younger priestess and three acolytes assist me, but I am the one who anoints the dead with holy oils and speaks the prayers. It is under my guidance that the others undress and bathe the departed one.”

  The Justice of Balyaranna nodded. “Will you tell us what you found that struck you as unusual?”

  “My lord, even in the deepest sanctuary in the temple, we had heard of what happened to Lord Tirael, how he’d been struck down, and him unarmed. Not even a knife for eating on his belt. That’s why we were so surprised when we found this.”

  She carefully unwrapped the bundl
e in her lap, folding each layer of cloth back like the petals of a flower opening. There was a gasp of surprise as she held up a long, narrow-bladed dagger, its hilt wrapped in wire. No fashionable young lord’s ornament, this; this was a soldier’s weapon, a blade meant for killing.

  Lord Asiah’s voice rang out over the buzz of speculation. “Where did you find it, Priestess Aelwitha?”

  The priestess waited until the whispers subsided. “Hidden in Lord Tirael’s right boot.”

  The Justice took the dagger from her. “Thank you, priestess. That will be all.”

  Priestess Aelwitha bowed her head slightly, then took her leave, her robes rustling as she paced slowly down the aisle.

  When the door closed once more behind her, Lord Asiah brought the dagger to Tirael’s parents sitting in the front row. “Do either of you recognize this weapon, my lord, my lady?”

  They bent over it, studying the deadly weapon. Both shook their heads.

  “Have you any idea what Lord Tirael was doing in Lord Sevrynel’s gardens that night? I understand that he was … not invited,” Lord Asiah said delicately.

  Both Lord and Lady Portis blushed before shaking their heads again. Portis said, “But what difference does this make, Lord Justice? It was in his boot, not his hand.”

  “It only means that he was not unarmed, my lord. The record must be changed, that is all,” Lord Asiah replied soothingly, inclining his head toward the scribe. She glanced up and nodded, her stylus gliding across the wax tablet on the table before her.

  And I’m still as guilty as ever, Raven thought, watching her. He felt sick.

  Lord Asiah turned the dagger over and over in his hands, studying it. “My lord and lady, one last question—have you any idea why your son was carrying such a weapon?”

  “No doubt because he was afraid of him!” Lord Portis stabbed a finger at Raven.

  “If so, it seems odd that he didn’t draw it when he came upon his enemy in the dark,” the Justice observed as he lay the dagger upon the table.

  Suddenly both Lleld and Shima sat up straighter, their eyes unfocused. Surprise, even shock flitted across their faces.