Return to Shanhasson

by Joely Sue Burkhart

  This time, Dharman had insisted that she wear armor. The Blood had polished her chainmail and plate until it gleamed, and someone in the armory had managed to find white leather pants and gauntlets. Mounted on her silvery white mare with a long white cape flaring about her, she shone as brightly as the Shining Walls.

  At Dharman’s request, she’d let him brush her hair until it hung loose about her shoulders like a heavy black mantel. The soldier in her knew all that loose hair made her vulnerable if someone got close enough to grab a handful of hair instead of a braid she could tuck up beneath a helmet, but she decided if someone got that close, it would already be too late.

  Wind flowed down the street in a fluid, gentle canter, and the allied troops cheered as Shannari rode past. How much of it was sincere, she didn’t care to guess, but hopefully it would impress the Keldari. Sliding to a snorting, prancing halt, Wind arched her neck and put on quite a show before the Gate.

  The old Gates had been formed of massive timbers from the North Forest. This time, she’d requested that the metalworkers come up with a more pleasing design. The sides and frames were still formed from heavy timbers, but the interior panels were gleaming trellises vined with roses. Each and every full moon, she walked the Shining Walls and offered a sacrifice of blood to strengthen their magic.

  No one would pass those seemingly delicate Gates if she didn’t will it.

  Three solemn black-robed savages stood at the Gates, their troops lined in three columns, one behind each leader. These must be the tals of Keldar. Their dark eyes bored into her. She searched each man’s face, looking for the only features she knew from the Dream, but none of these men had molten silver eyes. Approximately the same age, with the same darkly bronzed skin and tattoos across both cheeks, they could have been triplets. All three were dressed in the same voluminous black folds of miserably heavy cloth, pulled up over their heads to leave only their faces uncovered. Each wore a scimitar on one hip and a short blade on the other, standing with arms crossed, hands lightly gripping each weapon.

  Her stomach tightened, unease sending her alarms blaring. How could she protect herself if she couldn’t even tell which one was the Black? Or what if none of them were the man she’d marked in the last Dream?

  :Which one is he?: Even Dharman’s mental voice was terse, all his intensity focused on those who dared to threaten her.

  Listening to the black dragon curled up in her mind, she knew he had to be here. He felt close, so close she ought to be able to smell him. A faint hint of sandalwood wafted to her, but she couldn’t tell from which tal. :I don’t know.:

  A savage walked around the three tals and bowed formally before her, showing the royal seal of her invitation. “Your Majesty, it is with great honor that the most powerful and respected tals of Keldar accept your invitation. We came without harm, as you requested; the tals merely wish to speak with you and come to a favorable decision for all.”

  “Who are you?” She asked, trying not to let her unease tighten her voice. Sourness curdled her tongue and twisted her stomach. Lady above, she'd heard that the Keldari were Shadowed one and all, but she hadn't imagined it would be so unpleasant to simply meet them.

  “I’m Asad rav’Mamba. Let me introduce Nijar tal’Gaboon, Odan tal’Tellan, and Mykal tal’Mamba, at your service, Your Majesty.”

  One of the Blood behind her snorted, likely Sal, although none of them were pleased at the term service. They took their honor and service very seriously indeed. Did the Keldari know this and deliberately use the word as an insult? She couldn’t decide if they were that crafty or not. She knew too little about the desert savages.

  She let her gaze flicker over the rows of soldiers, ignoring the tals. As far as she could see in the ranks, they all stared back with dark eyes. There wasn’t a single light-eyed man in the bunch. Her head pounded, splitting open with agony, but she fought to keep her face smooth and un-alarmed. “If you mean to parley, why bring so many soldiers? I count at least three hundred armed and mounted men, Asad rav’Mamba.”

  “So few, Your Majesty, compared to your impressive defenses,” the man on the left said, bowing deeply and sweeping his hands out, palm up. “Surely our numbers aren’t enough to alarm you.”

  She didn’t mention the thousands which had gathered on her border. She didn’t think it necessary to remind them outright. Her nonchalance would cut deeper, she hoped, and cause them unease to match hers.

  “What, exactly, do you want to talk about?” She smiled at each tal, deliberately bearing her teeth in a show of dominance that dragon spawn would understand all too well. “Far Illione borders are not in dispute; it’s obvious where the desert ends and Green Lands begin.”

  “As it’s also obvious that the desert claims more of your Green Lands each year,” the tal in the middle answered, his voice terse.

  The tal on the right glared at him, and then turned that glare on her. “We have a custom in the deserts that no tal may be named azi until he weds a White. You, Your Majesty, are the Last Daughter, the Last White known to us. We wish to court you.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh. According to her Dreams and Percy’s warning, “courting” meant tossing her to a vengeful dragon who’d rip her limb from limb. “Surely you jest, gentlemen.”

  “Did you not declare a challenge?” The tal on the left asked, a small smile flickering on his lips so quickly she almost missed it. The little curl of smugness was awfully familiar, but it was gone in a heartbeat, too quickly for her to be sure. “Even in the desert, we heard that if any man wishes to wed you, he must challenge your Blood. We wish to join the challenge. We three will Dance the Blades, and the last standing will then fight your Blood.”

  Wind nickered, her head swinging to the south with her ears perked expectantly. At last, the Sha’Kae al’Dan came at a hard gallop up High Road. “Absolutely out of the question.”

  “Interesting,” the tal in the middle said, pitching his voice to the savages behind him. “The High Queen is not a woman of her word after all.”

  “I had heard there was no challenge she would not meet,” the tal on the right said just as loudly.

  “The High Queen of the Green Lands never runs,” the tal on the left whispered, flashing that faint curl of his lips again. “Yet she runs from us.”

  “Prepare to open the Gates,” she shouted to the men on the wall. The tals smiled and shared knowing glances at one another. Lady above, she hoped that Khul rode them all down like dogs as he brought his warriors into Shanhasson.

  “Lady have mercy!” She thought it was Father Josef. Craning her head, she searched for him in the crowd and caught a flash of his white robes. “Your Majesty!”

  The Blood bonds suddenly sang with urgency. Dharman crashed into her, carried her out of the saddle, and rolled in midair to take the brunt of the fall himself. Pain sliced through the bond, sharp and deep, in all directions.

  Not hers, but all nine.

  :Dharman!: Instead of answering, he rolled her beneath him, using his full weight as though he sought to crush her into the earth. Or perhaps he had no strength remaining. Lady above, he was so heavy, a dead weight on top of her.

  Lady, no!

  She couldn’t breathe. Pain pounded through the bonds, crippling her. It was like Rhaekhar dying all over again, but multiplied by nine.

  The scent of blood was thick in the air. Her right arm was pinned beneath Dharman, but she felt with her left and found an arrow in his back. Sal should have covered them, and Jorah, but neither warrior was close. Were they too hurt themselves? Did they fear hurting him more?

  :Brightheart!: The Black roared in her mind. :Your Reds are down, every single one of them. Your own allies betray you. Let us in!:

  Like hell I will.

  Dharman remained conscious, clutching her head tight against his chest to shield her, but his breath caught in pain. If they were all hurt…down… Why didn’t they use their bonds to tell her what was happening?

  Oh, Lady, na�
��lanna Blood!

  Another arrow thumped into his body. She felt the impact, the shudder of pain he tried to hide. Sobbing, she tried to get her hand beneath him to the rahke on her hip. If she could sacrifice blood, she could Heal them. She could burn her betrayers to a crisp where they stood.

  “I know you care for your barbarians, Your Majesty.” King Challon called a dozen paces away. “Surrender and we’ll spare them.”

  The clash of swords came in all directions. Certainly Allandor and her own Guard were engaged with Challon’s, but who else was attempting this coup? With enemies at the Gate, she’d never expected betrayal from within.

  Dharman retorted through his bond. :Don’t.:

  The small crack he opened let pain gush through so sharp that her vision grayed in a swimming ocean. The pain she’d felt before was nothing compared to this. The truth dawned on her: her Blood refused to use their bonds to converse with her because they were shielding as much of their agony from her as possible.

  Even in death, they’re protecting me.

  She bit her lip until she tasted copper and iron. A small sacrifice, but it was enough that she felt the holy waters of the Silver Lake well within her. She sent the healing flow toward Dharman first. If she could get him up, and sacrifice more blood, then she could Heal the rest. She refused to even comprehend that she’d lose any of her na’lanna Blood.

  He shuddered, his breath rasping unevenly in his chest. She wanted to throw her head back and wail. I won’t let You have them, too. Not one!

  She had only one weapon left, albeit Shadowed and as trustworthy as her allies that had set this trap. She knew the Black couldn’t hear her words, not without a bond forged in her blood, but she seized that black sinuous beast in her mind and squeezed. Help me, damn you! Blood, I need blood!

  :I hear your Call, brightheart. I come to you.:

  * * *

  DHARMAN DIDN’T DARE RISE AN inch for fear the archers would land an arrow to her head or neck. To be honest, he doubted he could move even if he must. The first arrow had broken off in his side when he rolled her beneath him, and at least two more had hit his back. Better him than her, but he was not yet ready to ride to Vulkar’s Clouds.

  Great Wind Stallion, hear my prayer. If I must die, let us all ride to together. Spare her all pain—I’ll take it gladly—but let her ride with me, I beg you.

  It was a selfish prayer that shamed him, but he couldn’t help it. He loved her too much to leave her heart bleeding and wounded once more.

  The other Blood kept the swords from his back, but from the shriek of metal coming ever nearer, he knew his brothers wouldn’t last much longer.

  He thought the attack the worst nightmare in all his years serving Shannari as First Blood, until something seized hold of her arm and dragged her out from beneath him. She screamed and her arm nearly popped out of its socket. Razors scored her arm from elbow to wrist. Wings beat the air, the stink of dragon and desert filling his nose.

  Clutching at her ankle, he roared. “Nay!”

  The drag on her body caused the talons to slice her flesh ever deeper. Cursing, he released her, but his stomach rolled and his heart weighed like cold lead in his chest.

  The massive black-winged beast winked a baleful silver eye at him and dragged his prey away from the fighting to the relative shelter of the Shining Wall. So large, the dragon dwarfed the screaming, rearing mare, but Wind refused to leave her rider defenseless.

  Dharman pushed up to his elbows and bit back a scream of pain. Steel grated inside him, tearing his internal organs even more, but he flung himself after her. His body before any threat, so he’d sworn. The Vulkar-damned beast would have to eat him first.

  The dragon still clutched her arm in his mouth, but at least he didn’t rip her fragile limb off completely. Dharman shuddered at the thought of the dragon burying his muzzle in the tender skin of her abdomen.

  Vulkar help me, he prayed, dragging himself across the paving stones pace by pace. Give me the heated strength of Your heartfires and punishing speed of Your hooves. Let me reach her before she dies. Please, take me with her!

  She climbed to her feet, her face as white as her clothing had been before he’d bled all over her. Calmly, as though a dragon didn’t hold her pinned in its jaws, she let her head fall back and swept her right arm out from her body.

  A wave of bone-chilling water crashed into Dharman. It slung him on his back, filling his mouth and nose, swelling in his lungs and streaming down his throat. Metal tinged on the stone as she pushed the arrows out of his body. He couldn’t help but thrash and bellow at the bottom of her Silver Lake, for she was forced to Heal him hard and quickly.

  The ground rumbled beneath him, swaying and tossing him like a tiny boat at sea. Light blazed, searing his eyes. Shadow spewed like black fire over his head, tainting her sweet moonlight. Screams came from her enemies, but he couldn’t help but feel regret. She must have drawn on the Black’s poisonous power to darken her own.

  He felt the dark pulse of wicked amusement in her mind, leaking into his own Blood bond. The Black Dragon was more than pleased to assist her when her precious Reds had proven so weak. Growling beneath his breath, Dharman unsheathed his rahke and struggled to his feet. The stench of rotten bodies and acidic ash filled his nose, swirling all around him. He knew her power wouldn’t touch anything of hers, but his skin crawled at the loathsome touch of the taint.

  She stood as tall and proud as the Dark Mare, her hair streaming wildly about her shoulders, her white stained with blood. The Black Dragon crouched over her, breathing his fumes all around her, but she remained untouched.

  As soon as the beast noticed that Dharman was up, he lowered his muzzle to her bleeding wrist and settled in to lick her blood with long, slow, deliberate swirls of its serpentine tongue on her flesh. Dharman swore the filthy beast smiled at him.

  Fury pounded a vicious gallop in his skull.

  Wading through swirling eddies of blackness, he fought his way to her, using his bond to guide him. Someone bumped against his back and seized his shoulder in a familiar grip. Sal. Good. At least two had survived. Leaning against the current, they charged toward na’lanna Qwen. “Shannari!”

  * * *

  WELLS, MYKAL’S DREAMS COULD NEVER compare to the precious richness of her blood. It was all he could do to withdraw and make his escape, leaving her to kill the last of her betrayers while her freshly healed Blood came to her aid. Her blood sizzled through his body, a painful sensation of light cutting through darkest night, just as her holy waters had pained him. He treasured that hurt, willingly swallowing another bellyful of talons to claw him from the inside out.

  He flew back over her Shining Walls and found his warriors on the verge of Dancing the Blades with the horse king’s. It amused him to scream out a vicious, taunting roar of victory and watch the powerful horses buck and whinny with terror. Beautiful they may be and descended from the Great Wind Stallion, but they were still horses.

  One of his kind’s favorite feasts.

  Now for his greatest test as Mykal tal’Mamba, freed from the yoke of the twisted ring of Shadow. He landed in the midst of the Keldari, took a deep breath, and Called the dragon back inside.

  The beast refused.

  It scented his White, felt the sweet burn of her blood in his belly, and wanted more, more, more. He wanted to rub his head and jaws against her to mark her with his scent. Give her more blood, more than any of her Reds had ever done so his bond blazed strongest in her heart. And then, oh, iyeh, he wanted to slide home into the oasis of her lush body and feel her shine love and pleasure all over him.

  Panting, Mykal gritted his teeth and concentrated harder. He would not remain a dragon, not when he was this close to his purpose. He must be human before she recovered enough to remember that three tals waited at her Gates. He wasn’t ready to let her know his true identity, not until he knew whether she might accept him.

  With a snarling swipe of vicious claws, the dragon fought h
im. So very small inside the massive beast, he felt sweaty, exhausted, and so miserably puny without the weight of the ring on his hand. All he had was his will.

  And her bond.

  Moonlight flickered in him, rainbows on clear water. The dragon cocked his head, listening to music playing just beyond hearing.

  Sleep, Mykal crooned to the beast. Let me woo her love. She cannot take a dragon to her bed, but when she takes me, she takes you, too.

  With a decidedly grumpy huff, the dragon subsided. On his hands and knees, Mykal shivered, cold and clammy. What if the beast refused to slumber while he Danced the Blades with her Reds? He knew very well that she’d never forgive him if he killed one of her warriors.

  Sands swallow him, what if the beast ripped out of his body while he touched her? She might be the White Dragon of his dreams, but she had no foul beast curled up inside her that could fight back.

  Dread gnawed at his spine, dragon claws raking his nerves. His purpose had never been to kill her, not even for Shadow. Then why had he been given this dragon spawn to carry? Perhaps the ring had been the only way to ensure she survived his attentions.

  Inside, he shook with fear, but he stumbled back to the other tals, throwing on his clothing and human weapons as he went. No one must know. Not before he’d had a chance to win her love. If she needed him as the dragon again, a dragon he must remain, for he didn’t think the beast would ever return to the cage of his body again.

  His taamid hung loose as well as his hair, but it couldn’t be helped. Barbarians lined up opposite with swords unsheathed, but he ignored them despite the tals’ eager taunts about how easy it would be to teach a horse how to Dance. “Throw back your taamids, get your hands off your blades, and smile.”

  Nijar flashed teeth at him and it was all he could do not tear off the fool’s head. Mykal moved to the opposite side this time, hoping to hide his disappearance and return.