City of the Lost l-1

by Mary H. Herbert

  A horse of the desert lands, Sandhawk was as chestnut red as the rust-colored hills at sunset and as patient and enduring as the desert itself. Linsha had bought him shortly after her arrival in the Missing City, and thus far, she had been pleased with him.

  The gelding tossed his head once, and then went back to his oats as the beggar limped into the stall. Linsha looked over the horse’s back and grinned at the man as she continued brushing the chestnut’s dusty coat.

  “That’s one disguise I haven’t seen yet,” she said with a chuckle.

  “My biggest mistake was buying these clothes from a real beggar. They came complete with fleas.” He scratched his neck and with the same motion pushed his broad brimmed hat back from his face. Lank, dark hair fell forward, partially hiding a livid scar that marred the man’s nose and left cheek.

  Lanther had been a handsome man once. Linsha could see the strong lines of his nose and cheekbones under the weathered and scarred skin, but years of sun and desert wind and battles fought with sword and knife had taken a hard toll on his features. His eyes were a vivid blue, a dark blue like sapphires or perhaps the color of a thunderstorm at twilight. Those eyes twinkled at Linsha as the man crossed his arms and leaned against the stable wall.

  “I heard you rode a centaur into town last night. What did you do to earn that honor?”

  “Well, since you are the first to ask me that question, I will tell you. He was apologizing for ripping my tunic with a crossbow bolt.”

  Lanther’s eyebrows slowly rose toward his hairline. “He shot at you?”

  Linsha put the brush away and picked up a hoof-pick. “Accidently.” She leaned against Sandhawk’s side and carefully picked up his front hoof. “I went out beyond the ghost city into the outer lying edges of the ruins and bumped into a patrol. Their newest member shot before he realized what he was doing.”

  “You weren’t hurt?” he asked.

  “Just my tunic.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What were you doing out there?”

  “Tracking someone,” she replied from behind her horse. “The kind of man that makes my hackles rise.”

  “Did you find him?”

  “Lost him at the edge when the centaurs appeared.”

  Linsha moved to the horse’s back hoof and slowly picked it clean while she waited for Lanther to tell her why he had come. He was a deliberate man and a patient one, two traits that had stood him in good stead. He had told her his story once of his work in the New Swamp. How, as a Legionnaire, he helped people trying to escape from Takar in Sable’s realm, providing them with food and guiding them back to the safety of the plains. Sable’s minions trapped him one day, until he fought his way out, and badly wounded, made his way across the miles of stagnant water and foul marsh to the small tribal village of Mem-Ban on the edge of Iyesta’s domain. There he recovered with the aid of the tribesmen. Unfortunately, his leg was too crippled to return to the swamp. He was sent to the Missing City to join the cell there and to work with Iyesta’s spy network. He had been one of the first Legionnaires to approach Linsha shortly after her arrival in the city, and together they had formed a steady friendship and a workable link between the Legion and the Order.

  When he did not say anything after a while, Linsha peered at him around the back of Sandhawk’s rump and saw through the hairs of the horse’s tail that Lanther was trying to scratch his shoulder blades on the boards of the stall wall. He looked so uncomfortable and ridiculous that a chuckle slid out before she could stop it.

  “You laugh,” he grumbled. “Some day you’ll have to use a disguise like this and the little demons will be all over your succulent flesh.”

  Linsha, who had been forced to use a disguise like that once, jerked a thumb at the horse trough visible just outside the stable door. “So take a bath. There’re horse blankets in the tack room.”

  He made a disparaging noise. “No thanks. I’ll find my own bath. I came to tell you that Sir Morrec’s company has been delayed near the forest. They won’t be back until tomorrow. One of your messengers is on the way here, by the way.”

  Linsha nodded, resigning herself to another day of Sir Remmik’s dictatorial attitude. She didn’t bother to be surprised that a Legionnaire was telling her of her own commander’s business. The Legion often brought her news before her own Order received it.

  Lanther paused as if waiting for her full attention. “We have found information on the elder who is missing,” he said. “We received a tip last night that the man is dead. We are searching for his body.”

  Linsha hissed in irritation. “That makes three missing, doesn’t it? Who is doing this? And why?”

  “I wish we knew. It would be most strange if these three deaths are mere coincidences.”

  The two fell quiet for a time, busy with their own thoughts while the work of the stables went on around them.

  After a while Lanther stirred and set his eyes on Linsha’s bent back. “By the way-” he paused to savor the moment of delivery-”your brother was in Flotsam.”

  She shot straight up, startling her horse and dropping the hoof pick. “What? When? How do you know?”

  A grin spread across Lanther’s scarred face, easing the usually tense lines around his eyes and mouth. “One of our members in Flotsam sent a report to Solace and to Falaius to report the death of one of our older members. Falaius was a friend of hers.”

  Falaius Taneek was a desert barbarian turned Legionnaire who commanded the Legion cell in the Missing City. A tough but fair man, he had gained Linsha’s respect quickly and opened a cordial and diplomatic liaison between the Legion and the Solamnic circle. He would have known how pleased Linsha would be to hear news of her brother.

  “What was Ulin doing in Flotsam? Was my father with him?”

  “There was no mention of Palin. Only Ulin and someone named Lucy Torkay.”

  Linsha leaned her arms over her patient horse’s back. “Lucy? Did the report say why?”

  He shook his head. “It only said they were there last spring to look for her father. Apparently, he was a local brigand who had stolen the town’s treasury. Seems your brother and this Lucy saved the town.”

  An image of her tall, lanky brother filled Linsha’s mind like a warm draught of spring wine. He was her only sibling and a friend and companion of childhood. It had been too many years since she’d seen him last, and she missed him deeply. “Saved a town, did he?” she murmured, bending over to retrieve the pick. “He would.”

  She said nothing more as her thoughts revolved back to her place in the Missing City. She wished Ulin was there so she could ask him about the forebodings that discomfited her mind, but he was far away, probably back in Solace by now. There was only Lanther. He had been her friend for over a year, and if anyone in this city could understand her misgivings it might be him.

  Still she stayed quiet while she thought of the right words. There were many things she wanted to ask him, but she wanted to phrase them in the right words. “Lanther,” she said, “you have been in Missing City for two years. You know this city as well as a native and you know what the Legion is doing.” She paused, then went on. “Have you noticed anything different lately? Does the Legion suspect something or have any apprehensions about this city?”

  If he was surprised by her questions, he did not allow it to show in his expression. “No,” he said slowly. “Why?”

  “Something is bothering me. You may laugh, call it woman’s intuition, but I have survived many years on my gut instincts. I can’t put a shape to it.” She lifted her hands in a gesture of frustration. “It is like a whiff of smoke on the wind. Strangers in town who make my skin crawl. Dead or missing civilians. Militia on alert. I see no link in any of it, and yet I feel something is wrong.”

  Lanther, a survivor of many undercover operations and battles in hard places, did not laugh at her admission. “I will ask around,” he said. “Discreetly.”

  Linsha went back to grooming the gelding. She had to be conte
nt with that. At least Lanther did not ignore her like Sir Remmik or try to brush her off with light statements and a joke. If he said he would ask, he would do just that. Something might come of it.

  A clatter of boots and voices outside announced the arrival of Linsha’s escort-three Knights who would ride with her to see the dragonlord. They crowded into the aisle in front of the stalls, calling for their horses.

  Lanther stayed to visit while Linsha blanketed and saddled her horse. He talked of inconsequential Legion activities and the city council’s plans for the Midyear street festival in Little Three Points, then with a wave, he swung his dingy cloak around his shoulders and limped away down the hill toward the streets of Mirage.

  Linsha watched him go. She liked Lanther very much, admired his courage, his convictions, and his determination. He had a roguish sense of humor and a cool charm. And yet, in some things he was still an enigma. He rarely talked about himself but preferred to listen to other people and, like many Legionnaires, he liked to work alone.

  She wondered if the Legion knew she had been summoned to Iyesta’s lair. She decided they probably did. There was little that escaped the Legion’s notice.

  A whisper of wings stirred the air by the manger, and Varia landed noiselessly by the chestnut’s head. Sandhawk had been trained to disregard the owl. He flicked an ear at her and continued eating. She said nothing while the stable boys were close by, simply sitting and staring down at Linsha like any normal, trained pet owl. Once the bridle was on the gelding’s head and Linsha was leading him out the door, Varia glided down and out the wide double doors.

  The Knights, young and-to Linsha’s mind-inexperienced, hooted at the owl and laughed among themselves as they mounted their horses and fell in behind the Rose Knight. With a shake of her head, Linsha kneed the chestnut into a canter and let the escort follow as best they could.

  Iyesta’s lair lay in the ruins of the old city in an area of the garden district kept deliberately untouched and unsettled by the servants of the great brass. Long ago it had been the palace of an elf prince. Much of its former beauty could still be seen in the graceful lines of the crumbling walls and arches and in the splendor of its vast expanses of halls, roofless chambers, stables, overgrown gardens, and patches of wild woodlands. The dragon had chosen the throne room, the only chamber large enough to hold her, and had ordered its roof repaired and its interior returned to its former grandeur. Everything else she’d left alone, partially as camouflage for her lair and partially because she liked the contrast of the old ruins set against her neat, well ordered city.

  Iyesta was a dragon of contrasts herself. The largest brass dragon in Ansalon, she had a achieved her gargantuan size by preying on evil dragons during the Dragon Purge, yet the extent to which the other dragonlords, especially the five great overlords, disrupted life on the Ansalon horrified her, and she worked actively to undermine their authority. She could be charming, gregarious, a skilled conversationalist, then be viciously aggressive in the defense of her realm.

  Because of her efforts on the behalf of the people under her care, she was held in high esteem by those in the brass clan and by other metallic dragons. Several dozen young metallics, mostly silver, gold, and brass accepted refuge in Iyesta’s city and helped guard her borders or aided in her operations against the overlords. Three young brass dragons, born of the same egg, had earned a special place as Iyesta’s personal attendants and made it their duty to guard her throne room when she was in residence. Usually, at least one of those young brasses sat out in front of her lair every day and screened the petitioners who came to see her.

  This morning though, Linsha was surprised to see the large double doors were open and the space was empty. The wide expanse of courtyard before the chamber was in an uproar. Iyesta crouched in the large space bellowing orders as troops of her militia, palace guards, and others Linsha couldn’t readily identify ran around in frantic haste trying to obey her. Two other dragons, a young gold female named Desiristian and a silver male Linsha knew as Chayne were winging in for landing nearby. The Knights reined their horses to a halt beside the smooth, paved road that led to the palace. A half-elf, serving in one of the dragon’s loyal regiments, came to meet Linsha and take her horse.

  “What’s going on?” Linsha asked as she handed Sandhawk’s reins over to the guard.

  The half-elf looked worriedly toward the palace. “Her ladyship is furious. Dathylark, Korylark, and Thassalark are missing, and she’s worried sick. I don’t know what she’s planning, but she’s sending out search parties in every direction to find them.”

  Linsha whistled softly under her breath. All three missing? The brass triplets were inseparable and telepathically bonded. It did not seem possible that something could happen to all three of them. Maybe they had left on a secret mission of their own without telling Iyesta. If that was the case, Linsha pitied their hides when they returned home.

  Linsha turned the three Knights of her escort. “You three wait here,” she ordered.

  She walked with deliberate care along the sweeping carriage way up to the old palace, giving the dragon plenty of time to see her through the gates of the courtyard. Soldiers and servants of the dragonlord recognized Linsha and made no move to stop her as she walked through the gates. She stopped perhaps twenty feet away from the huge brass and waited for Iyesta to acknowledge her. There was certainly no point in trying to shout over the dragon’s thundering ire.

  While Linsha waited she stared up at the huge brass and felt again her deep awe and admiration for the big dragon. Iyesta was well named Splendor. Over three hundred feet long, she was gracefully built with a short neck, a long, arched back and a tail nearly a third of her length. She carried a wingspan of more than four hundred fifty feet and had a delicate head with a mouth of curving teeth. Her scales had the warm, burnished look of polished brass that gleamed like golden fire in the morning sun.

  “You’re late!” Iyesta’s voice thundered.

  Linsha bowed into the blessed silence that had fallen over the court. The scurrying servants and soldiers fled to obey their orders while the other two metallics waited respectfully nearby.

  “I did not realize there was a deadline, your lordship,” Linsha said without apology. “I was told to report to you in the morning. It is still morning.”

  Iyesta dipped her head until her large eye regarded Linsha from a few feet away. Her eyes were golden brown, tinged with a smoldering red and gleaming with ancient intelligence. Her spiraled horns gleamed gold in the sunlight. Her lip curled up over her curved teeth like unsheathed scimitars.

  The Rose Knight did not move a muscle. Iyesta’s delicately shaped face alone was taller than a man. When Iyesta peered down, all Linsha could see were nostrils and curved teeth. She stared patiently up at the huge dragon’s eye and waited.

  Iyesta gave a snort that nearly blew Linsha off her feet. “You are right, Lady Knight. Excuse my impatience. This morning has been… long. My friends are missing, and we cannot locate them.”

  “How long have they been gone?” asked Linsha.

  “They were here yesterday. Dart was sent on an errand for me. The other two left suddenly last night with no explanation. We do not know what to make of it.”

  Three missing brass dragons. If it had been any other metallic in Iyesta’s realm, Linsha would not have given it a second thought. None of the metallics who lived under Iyesta’s care were bound to her by anything more than respect and loyalty. They came and went as they pleased. Except for the triplets. Three parts of a whole, they were completely devoted to Iyesta and to each other. One or more attended her at the palace all the time. That they should leave and not return without some message did not bode well.

  “Do you wish me to return later?” The words were barely said when a small shadow swept over the courtyard and Linsha looked up to see Varia glide in to land on Iyesta’s folded wing. The owl had no fear where this dragon was concerned.

  “We are going to speak to Th
under,” Iyesta replied, a deep rumble of anger in her chest. “You are still in uniform. Come with us. We can talk on the way.”

  Linsha felt her mouth drop open. Ride a dragon? To speak to a blue? This was an opportunity too good to miss.

  “Who will carry me?”

  “I will.”

  Without giving herself time to change her mind, Linsha hurried to the escort and gave them orders to return to the Citadel. The half-elf agreed to keep Sand-hawk until her return.

  Iyesta crouched to the ground, dropped her shoulder, and stretched out her taloned forefoot so Linsha could climb onto her back.

  Since the climb was a high one over the brass’s slippery scales and Linsha did not want to show too much delight and enthusiastic scrambling, she clambered up the dragon’s shoulder with as much decorum and care as she could muster. The dragon’s wing joints and the base of her neck were massive, and it was all Linsha could do to spread her legs over the curve of the dragon’s shoulders to find some sort of seat. When she was finally situated on Iyesta’s back, she flashed a quick grin at Varia and settled the owl against her stomach. Both of them took a firm grip of the dragon’s heavy neck ridges.

  Iyesta launched herself into the air with a fierce thrust of her hind legs, nearly snapping Linsha’s neck, and spread her massive wings into the wind. The gold and silver dragons swiftly followed her into the sky. Their wings beat hard to lift them above the turbulence of warming morning air into the cooler, calmer heights. Once they reached a comfortable elevation, all three dragons leveled out and veered northwest toward the desert wastelands of Thunder’s realm.