The Dragon's Legacy

by Deborah A. Wolf

  “This is not a foretelling. Perhaps I am mistaken, and you will die before the sun goes down. I will still be here, either way. Oh, do not give me that look. You should be thanking me—you are still alive, after all. Come, come, we must not be late.”

  As she led, so Jian followed, head spinning and occasionally seized by a spasm of pain that would leave him gasping and weak. Xienpei urged him to walk, and walk faster. The shadows that filled his mind were receding, only to be replaced by a blinding headache. When they came to a place where two paths met and turned toward the center of the city Xienpei bade him sit, and settled herself down beside him.

  They did not wait long. Dust rose in the distance, and before long Jian could see shapes moving toward them. A low rumble grew into the rattling cacophony of wooden wheels against stone. Jian thought the carts had come for him and tried to stand, to flee. Xienpei clamped a hand down on his arm.

  “Stupid boy,” she hissed at him. “Sit.”

  So he sat, and waited, and before too long he could see that these were not the corpse-wagons. These were smaller and more finely made, white and gold in the sunlight and pulled by teams of graceful white horses. They moved at a brisk trot, high-stepping and smooth. Each cart carried a score or more of young women, girls the same age as Jian, dressed in yellow and white silk. Most lay asleep, or senseless, and those few who sat upright clung together, or wept, or stared numbly into the distance. Jian looked up into their faces as the wagons slowed and passed, and knew they mirrored his own pain.

  “Who…” he began.

  “Hush! Look. Look!” Xienpei pinched his arm. He looked.

  Then he saw her.

  She was seated at the back of a wagon, slumped against one side, boot-clad feet dangling behind as if she would jump from the wagon and run off if only she could gather her strength. Her face was a perfect oval, high cheekbones marking her as mountain-born. Her hair was black and glossy, and her eyes… her eyes. Jian knew those eyes, had seen them staring at him from his mother’s mirror, from every still, deep pool he had ever looked into. She saw him as well, and sat bolt upright, staring with her mouth open in a perfect little O as they drove past and dwindled into the distance. Jian gaped after the girl long after she was gone from his sight.

  “She is Daezhu,” Xienpei said, satisfaction coloring her voice. “You did not think only boys were ever born during Nian-da, did you?”

  “I…”

  Xienpei stood and hauled him to his feet. “This is your road, the only one open to you now. The paths lead on, and none leads back to the life you had before. That way lies only death.” For the first time since Jian had met his yendaeshi, she was not smiling. “The choice is before you. Remain where you are, and die. Look behind you, and die. Or move forward… and live.”

  Jian looked to the east, down the path to the girl and the palaces and a life he had never wanted.

  “That is not much of a choice.”

  Xienpei laughed without a trace of humor. “It never is.”

  FIFTEEN

  He called for her in the moonslight hours, when the world was cool and still.

  She was deep in Shehannam, tracking the hare that was Umm Nurati’s soul-twin, and keeping a wary ear attuned to the world around her. The Wild Hunt had not been through this region in an age, but that meant nothing. So when Khurra’an interrupted her dreamshifting and dragged her back into the world, she was angry enough to take a bite out of his ear.

  You could try, he suggested, laughing at her.

  Daru was curled at Sulema’s feet like a scrawny kitten, only half asleep. His dreams were a gossamer shroud, and she was well pleased. His presence would serve to keep the girl safe from the shadows, and Khurra’an would eat any threat posed by the physical world.

  The dreamshifter stepped from her warm tent and onto the cold sands, scowling up through her hair at Leviathus. He was dressed for travel, in an Atualonian kilt and the gold-and-white cloak of the ne Atu.

  “There had better be coffee,” she said.

  He smiled a little and handed her a full mug.

  “Walk with me,” he said. “Please.”

  “Do you not know it is death to wake a dreamshifter?”

  Leviathus grinned. “That is a story you made up so that no one would bother you in your tent. You never really sleep anyway, do you?”

  “I do not need much sleep.” She had not slept in years, not in the way he was thinking, but that was nobody’s business but her own. “I do need privacy, and rest. What brings you here, and all alone?”

  “I wished to speak with you.”

  She gestured toward her tent, but he shook his head.

  “Let us walk. The camp has a thousand ears.”

  They walked. Didi paled and her darker sister faded into the sky as it paled from black to indigo, and then the first angry streaks of dawn broke free. Akari Sun Dragon, it seemed, was no happier at being woken from his slumber than she had been.

  “Are we still family, Zeina?” he asked.

  “Family is not like a dream from which you can wake.”

  “No matter how hard you try?” His voice was bitter. “Zeina, I have missed you. I missed you… so much. You have no idea.”

  She stopped and turned back toward her tent. Leviathus took her by the arm, careful not to move quickly, careful to let go when she shrugged away.

  “I cannot be away from Sulema for long. She is not out of danger, yet.”

  “No, stop, please. I did not come tonight to argue with you. It is just… this is wretched, Zeina. Here we are walking together before the rest of the world wakes, just like we did when I was little and unable to sleep.” He had been an anxious child, prone to bouts of insomnia. “Before Tadeah’s death, and the politics, and the… politics. We should go, just go.”

  “Where would we go?”

  “We would go fishing. Or hunting! Show me where you slew the golden ram. Take me to this Valley of Death I have heard so much about. Even that cannot be as bad as politics. Just let us go.”

  “Eid Kalmut is a peaceful place, ehuani, so long as you do not disturb the Guardian. I have seen more of the world than you have, this world and the next. Perhaps that has cured my wanderlust. Besides, we both have lives that cannot so easily be cast aside to run away and sleep beneath the stars.”

  “Still the stern mother.” Leviathus smiled ruefully. “And yet there was that time we slept in the atrium, so you could teach me the names of the stars, do you remember? And the concubines came down to dance with Father? You did not want me to get in trouble, so you threw your robes over me…”

  “That was long ago.”

  Leviathus laughed. “That was the first time I had ever seen a woman naked, and I was a little bit in love with Jamandae from that day on.”

  “I was a terrible influence,” Hafsa Azeina said, and frowned as she remembered the deposed king’s youngest concubine. “I was young and foolish.”

  “You were wonderful,” countered Leviathus. “Zeina…”

  A shadow passed over them, and a mournful cry sounded in the dark skies above. The song was answered to the north and, faintly, to the west. Leviathus looked up and squinted into the dark.

  “Bintshi?”

  “Lesser wyverns, and they are mating, not hunting. If it was a bintshi, you would be dead already.” She shook her head. “Leviathus, why have you come here? The Zeera is no place for you.”

  “I have come because my father desired to know his daughter. I have come here, tonight, because he is troubled by events in the world. The Daemon Emperor…”

  “Wyvernus would not be so troubled by events in the world if he would leave the world well enough alone,” she snapped, irritated. “The Sindanese have kept to their Forbidden City since the Sundering. Why does Ka Atu think they will venture forth now, after all this time? Unless he has given them cause.”

  “Do you remember Archmaetreus Mundaya?”

  “I remember.” Hafsa Azeina spat. Mundaya had been found guilty
of selling babies on the black market.

  “Her sentence of death was commuted,” he said. “In return, she agreed to spy for us. She works as a midwife in Sindan and tends to their… more unusual births.”

  “And…?”

  “The Sindanese emperor is breeding a Daechen army. Women are encouraged to lie with daemons, and bear half-human spawn.”

  “An army of children? Unless they mean to use soiled wrappings as siege weapons, I hardly see cause for concern.”

  “Children grow up.”

  “What does Ka Atu propose we do about this? Ask the Sindanese women to stop bearing young? Sindan is a slave empire, and the women all belong to the emperor. It is death for any to refuse him. Besides, the stories tell us that the Dae are magical lovers. That one night of passion may be the only joy those women experience in their miserable lives.”

  Leviathus frowned. “You are not taking this seriously.”

  “I am not taking your father’s concerns seriously. There is a difference. Tell me, what does your father propose we do about this army of infants?”

  Leviathus looked uncomfortable. “Some among the Senate have proposed we should poison the villages’ wells, perhaps, or we could train special midwives—”

  “Do they think the Sindanese emperor would not notice a horde of women descending on his land with their midwives’ gear?” She made a silencing motion with her hand. Her eyes felt hot, she was so angry. “Murdering innocent children… the idea is monstrous. Those children are less a threat to the land than your father’s meddling.”

  “I do not agree that my father should go along with these plans, Zeina. I tell you so that you may dissuade him, or come up with a solution that does not involve spilling the blood of children.”

  She shook her head. “My days of persuading your father to do anything are over. This is a task for the queen consort. Take your concerns to her, whoever she may be.”

  Leviathus stared at her. “You truly do not know?”

  “There are many things I do not know. Which thing is this?”

  “There is no queen consort. When you left, Ka Atu retired his concubines, and he has refused to take a new wife. His fortress Atukos was dark for a year and a day, and he refused to light the fires. He would not listen to reason. It is a good thing he did not know back then where you had fled to, because he swore to lay waste to any who sheltered you.”

  Hafsa Azeina knew there had been a price on her head, but it had never occurred to her that Wyvernus might spend the rest of his days alone. The thought was surprisingly painful.

  He pressed on. “Jamandae tried to reason with him, but then she was killed, and for a while we all feared for our lives. The mountain began smoking again, and the soldier beetles on the northern slopes swarmed. Those were bad times.”

  “I am sorry.”

  “Will you explain nothing? I cannot believe it was all a lie. You loved us. You loved me.”

  She could give him that much, at least. “Of course I loved you.” She hesitated. “I still love you. But it changes nothing.”

  “It changes everything,” he protested. “Zeina, why did you leave us?”

  “I did not leave you. I left Atualon.”

  “You left me behind.”

  “You were not mine to take.” She raised her hands and pushed the hair back from her face. “Leviathus, why do you come to me tonight? Have you come to walk down these old paths? Because I will not. I cannot.”

  “Will you not tell me why you left?”

  “No.” She bit the word in half.

  “You do not plan to stay, do you? You will just leave us again.” She said nothing.

  “Zeina, we need you. I need you. My father needs you… These are troubled times, and he needs your advice.”

  “Your father has a kingdom full of people who are more than happy to advise him. He hardly needs my voice added to the din.”

  “That is just the thing.” Leviathus ran his hands through his hair, clearly frustrated. “The matreons and patreons have their own interests at heart, and the Imperators always want war. The il Mer have grown too powerful, and one out of three of our soldiers are paid by the salt folk. Their loyalty is questionable. There is no one the king can trust to give him pure advice, from the heart.”

  “From the heart.” Her laugh was bitter as blood. “If you only knew. What of the Quarabalese shadowmancer? Is he not a wise man?”

  Leviathus hesitated and lowered his voice. “He is a foreigner, and his ways are strange. My father trusts him, but…”

  “You do not.”

  “I do not.”

  She sighed. “I would like to help you, Leviathus, I really would, but I am no longer queen consort. I am not the woman you once knew, the young mother who took you fishing and taught you the names of the stars. My daughter and I are no longer of Atualon. Perhaps once he sees me, your father will realize that it is time for him to move on. Past time for him to choose a new consort and produce a new heir, an echovete child that he can raise up to rule in his place. And sooner is better than later. The child will have to learn to control sa and ka. I know your father thinks he is invulnerable, but even Ka Atu is mortal.”

  “It is not that simple, Zeina. I am not to tell you this but—”

  “What?” she snapped. “Leviathus, it is time your father lives his own life, and it is time I return to my daughter. She needs me. He does not.”

  “It is too late for my father to take a new consort, too late for him to sire an heir.” His voice broke. “Zeina, he is dying.”

  For a moment Hafsa Azeina could not breathe. She remembered holding in her hands the portrait of a foreign king, a red-haired man with a ready smile and mischief in his eyes. She remembered telling her father that she would take this man for her own, and she had. She had sailed across the perilous sea, and they had fallen in love at first sight, just like in the stories.

  Yet stories, even love stories, do not always have happy endings. She had learned that long ago, and much to her sorrow.

  Somewhere high above them, the wyvern screamed.

  SIXTEEN

  Leviathus ne Atu was a learned young man, and he loved maps. In his dreams he had traveled the Dibris, had tasted the exotic food and drink of the desert prides, had found his sister and brought her home again a thousand times and one.

  He knew of the plumed lionsnakes and the vash’ai, mymyc and wyverns and spiders big enough to entangle sheep in their webs— Atualon did a brisk business in spidersilk—and he knew the desert was as wide and deep as Nar Bedayyan. But tracing the Zeera on a map was one thing. Dragging one’s sunburnt and parched ass across it was an entirely different matter.

  The Zeeranim were as a slow-moving shadow rolling across the land. Half a thousand set out at the same time, most of them barely grown youths and fierce-eyed huntresses. There were no Mothers in this group, no pregnant women or children clinging to skirts. These precious and vulnerable members of the prides remained behind in the river fortress Aish Kalumm. A wise choice, perhaps, but Leviathus’s books told him that once all of the desert people had been free to wander at whim beneath the desert moons, and he felt that something beautiful had been lost.

  They moved north, staying far enough to the east of the Dibris that they might avoid most of the larger serpents, but not so far that their path would take them into the territories of the wild vash’ai. These people depended on the cats’ aid and sufferance for their very survival. To trespass was blasphemy.

  Though it often seemed to Leviathus that the worst blasphemy these people could imagine was moving with a purpose. They wandered more than traveled, a haphazard tangle of stubborn and hot-headed people who had more or less decided to move in the same general direction, until some of them decided to go home, or stop and take a nap, or go tarbok hunting instead.

  If the lack of discipline was maddening, the Zeera herself was every dream of adventure he had ever had as a boy. This far from the Dibris, water was nothing more than a fon
d memory. The world was wind and sand under the sun, wind and sand under the moons, and stretched ever on and on as far as the dreaming mind could reach. And it sang. It was one thing to hear tales of the singing dunes, and another altogether to stand in the light of the pregnant moons, feeling the sand beneath his feet shift and swell to their pull, and listen to the slow and mournful dirge of the desert. At night the song was a mother’s lullaby, sometimes. Other times it was a man with a voice like thunder singing to his lost love.

  When the sun came up the voices took on a sharp, snapping quality. They crackled like fire, they called the heart to war.

  By day the ground burned and shimmered like gold in the jeweler’s forge. With each step, Leviathus’s body reminded him that this was no place for life, certainly no place for such a small and insignificant life as his. Well could he imagine Akari Sun Dragon from the old tales stretching his wings across the thin blue sky, while Sajani Earth Dragon burned beneath their feet as she dreamed of her lover’s touch. The Sleeping Dragon would wake and split the earth asunder when she emerged to rejoin him in their dance across the heavens, unaware of the small lives that burned in the glory of her rebirth.

  Unless, as it was said, Sajani Earth Dragon really was the mother of the desert prides. In that case, she was as likely to sleep until the end of times, or wake and decide she did not care so much for Akari Sun Dragon, or choose to go goat hunting instead.

  Somehow, despite all the chaos, the lot of them managed to wake and break their fast each morning before sunrise, early enough that the sands were still cool and friendly, late enough that most of the night hunters had given up drooling around the ring of fire and swords and slunk off to find softer prey. Leviathus never saw aught of these beasts save spoor, but those claw-marks and drag-marks and piles of dung as big as tents were enough to make him glad for the presence of the vash’ai. Without the big cats, humans in the Zeera would have been hunted to extinction long ago.

  By the time they passed the territories of the Nisfim, the northernmost pride, their party had dwindled to perhaps a hundred people and a score of vash’ai. Leviathus traveled with his own small horde as befitted a man of his station. These included six of the Draiksguard and four of the Baidun Daiel, as well as Aasah and his apprentice. The men of the Draiksguard insisted on wearing their scale tunics and snarling helms despite the heat. Rheodus was not among them—Leviathus had left the young man to guard the ships when it became apparent that Mattu would be traveling overland with them.