Dragon and Phoenix

by Joanne Bertin

  A shadow slid across that sliver of moon. For a moment Merlet couldn’t believe her eyes. She rubbed at them, certain they played her a trick.

  But no—there came another and another. Throwing off her cloak, Merlet let herself flow into Change.

  They’re back! she cried to all inside the Keep. The truedragons have returned! She leaped into the air.

  As she arrowed into the night sky, she thought, But, dear gods, there are so few of them.

  Maurynna sat atop Boreal early the next morning, watching as the drovers herded cattle into the Meeting Field. The frightened animals lowed as they milled about in confusion. Somehow they knew they were doomed.

  The first Dragonlord dove out of the sky, seized one and bore it aloft. She recognized Kelder Oronin in his dragon form. The herd panicked, but before they could stampede, a second Dragonlord flew in from the opposite direction. Once again a frantic cow was carried away.

  She watched as the herd was decimated animal by animal. Only two Dragonlords could carry more than one cow at a time: Linden, and another Yerrin Dragonlord almost as large, Brock Hatussin. And even they were hard put to do it, Maurynna saw.

  Lleld, riding Miki, joined her. It was small comfort that there was at least one other Dragonlord who could not help; Lleld was too small to carry a struggling cow safely. But at least she could Change.

  By way of conversation—and to take her mind from her inadequacies—Maurynna said, “It will be a lean winter.” For though this was certainly not all the cattle of Dragonskeep, it was a goodly number.

  But what else could they have done? The truedragons waiting in the mountain meadow before going on to their homes in the north were too weak to hunt for themselves. They must eat or die.

  “So it will,” Lleld agreed, then added, “For some—but not all. Shall we be off?”

  All during the ride to the meadow, Maurynna wondered what Lleld had meant. But she dared not ask. There were some things it was much safer not to know—at least where Lleld was concerned.

  Seventeen

  He’s here; Morlen the Seer is here.

  The word spread through Dragonskeep like the wind. Raven heard it down in the stables where he was helping Chailen, the head groom, with a young mare just delivered of her first foal. It had been less than a tenday since the return of the truedragons. No one had expected to see Morlen so soon.

  The mare was frightened; the birthing had been difficult, and now she wasn’t certain who this little stranger was. Or even if she wanted anything to do with it.

  “A pity she’s but a horse and not one of the Llysanyins,” the kir grunted as he rubbed the foal down with a handful of clean straw. “It would be just a matter of explaining things to her. And if she still wouldn’t accept it, why then, I’m sure her dam, granddam, and all her aunties would explain it in their way.”

  Raven stroked the mare’s neck, soothing her, coaxing her toward her new son. “They truly understand that well?”

  “They do indeed. I’m not saying you could discuss with ’em whether there are nine manifestations of the goddess or three or twenty-seven, as I understand some scholars waste their time with, but everyday things … Oh, yes; they understand. Too cursed much sometimes.” Then, to the foal, “No, little idiot—not the straw! You’re too young to eat that. Let’s get you to your dam.”

  Raven soothed the nervous mare as Chailen helped the gangly-legged colt across the stall. She trembled under his hand but stood steady as he murmured to her.

  “Good, good, hold her steady,” Chailen grunted softly as he guided the foal to its proper dinner.

  There was a tense moment when the mare started as the eager nose butted her udder, but Raven made much of her, crooning endearments and encouragement. He knew the instant she accepted the colt; one moment she was rigid beneath his hands; the next, she relaxed and whickered softly to her new baby.

  Raven grinned, heady with the joy of knowing that all was well with dam and foal. He followed Chailen out of the birthing stall.

  The kir blew out a relieved breath. “Well done, Raven. You’ve definitely got the touch with horses. I don’t think that mare would’ve stood so quiet for anyone else. Thank the gods that’s ended well; I don’t need an ‘orphan’ on my hands.” He reached up and clouted Raven on the shoulder. “Any more like you at home? I could use another half a dozen or so,” Chailen said, laughing. “Let’s get a bit of fresh air.”

  Raven followed him, pleased by the head groom’s praise. He’d never met anyone before as knowledgable about horses as this kir. “No, just me—likely to my stepmother’s relief. I was a handful, she likes to tell me now. But at least she always knew where to find me.”

  “The nearest barn, eh?” Chailen said. “Aye, you’ve the touch. No question about that.”

  Together they wandered to the back paddocks. A mixed herd of Llysanyins and horses waited in the largest paddock. They milled impatiently, the Llysanyins stamping their feathered feet. Raven watched a stablehand—this one truehuman—swing up onto one of the horses. Even bareback she had a good seat, he noted absently. “She’s bringing the herd up to pasture?” he asked.

  “Katha?” Chailen asked. “No, she’s going just to open the gates. The Llysanyins herd the horses along, see that they all arrive without mishap. But a two-foot still has to work the latches; unfortunately Aewin the smith has yet to devise a gate latch that only a Llysanyin can undo.”

  Raven shook his head. “Can’t be done. If it can be opened by teeth and lips, there’s a horse somewhere that can figure it out. I’ve even met some of them.”

  He watched as Katha slipped the gate latch; watched as the herd poured out of the gate; whistled softly to himself as the Llysanyins took up positions around the ordinary horses. Each went to a certain place as if according to some prearranged plan, working together like a well-drilled team. With a thunder of hooves, the Llysanyins led the horses up the mountain, a laughing Katha in their midst.

  “They’re truly amazing,” he whispered to himself. He watched them as long as he could, lost in a dream.

  He came back to himself when Chailen bellowed almost in his ear, “Ho, lad! Where to so fast?”

  Raven looked around in time to see a running kir youngster veer off from whatever errand he was on to come to a skidding halt before Chailen.

  “Haven’t you heard, Chailen?” the youngster panted.

  Chailen frowned. “Heard what?”

  “Morlen. Morlen the Seer is here. In the Meeting Field.” The answer came in short bursts between heaving breaths. A few longer breaths and, “He’s asked all the Dragonlords to meet with him, not just the Saethe. That’s the Dragonlords’ council, sir,” the young kir explained politely to Raven. Then, once again to Chailen, “I must be off now.”

  Chailen waved him on; the youngster ran off.

  “The Meeting Field?” Raven asked.

  Chailen pointed. “There; the other side of the plateau. It’s where the Dragonlords meet with any visiting truedragons. I wonder what will come of it this time,” he said, shaking his head. “Ah, well, it’s back to work for the likes of me. And you?”

  Raven said vaguely, “Back to the Keep, I think, for breakfast,” and left.

  But food was the furthest thing from his mind. Filled with a curiosity he couldn’t explain, Raven wandered up the flagstone path to the Meeting Field.

  At first he stood at the back of the crowd; when no one objected to his presence—to be honest, he said to himself, I don’t think they even notice me, they’re so intent on Morlen—he wormed a way through, looking for Maurynna and a closer view of the truedragon.

  But he couldn’t find Maurynna and didn’t dare go any closer to the front of the crowd. Still, he was close enough to hear the red-haired little Dragonlord as she made her speech.

  “We need traveling entertainers to get into Jehanglan,” Lleld was saying as he came within hearing. “A troupe can go anywhere; no one pays any real attention to them, they’re nothing except when
there’s a show. No doubt it’s the same in Jehanglan as in the Five Kingdoms. And traveling entertainers are the only northerners allowed deep into Jehanglan.”

  “Perhaps so, Lleld,” the Lady said, “and no doubt we could find a troupe willing to go there, and work you into it. But you are not going as the only Dragonlord to Jehanglan, and that is final. Nor am I willing to ask truehumans to take this risk for us.”

  Lleld waved a hand impatiently. “We don’t need a troupe. We could make our own.”

  Murmurs of amusement and dissent rumbled through the gathered Dragonlords. The Lady shook her head, smiling.

  *Wait,* Morlen said, startling everybody. *I would hear more of this plan.* He swung his great head around to study Lleld. The little Dragonlord met his gaze unflinchingly. *Go on, little cousin.*

  “I can tumble, walk the tightrope, and juggle. You all know that. Jekkanadar can juggle, too, and do some of the easier tumbling. I’ll teach him everything I can, and teach the same and some other things to whoever else goes.”

  *Hmmm … * the great mindvoice rumbled. *It has its merits, Jessia.* The gathering waited while the Lady considered Lleld’s words. At last she said slowly, shaking her head, “I don’t know … . Morlen, this will take much thought.”

  “I can do it,” Lleld insisted.

  Another Dragonlord, a woman with blonde curls tumbling down her back, spoke up. She said, “But will you be able to teach whoever does go enough for a show?”

  She came forward, limping slightly. Raven recognized her from Maurynna’s description as Tarlna Aurianne, one of the other two judges with Linden Rathan in Cassori a few months ago. She had, he remembered Maurynna saying, a withered leg as her Marking.

  That explained the limp. Now Tarlna Aurianne reached the front of the crowd and turned to face the conclave. “Remember—the members of a real tumbling troupe have been practicing for years, since they were children. Can any of us learn those kinds of skills so quickly? And no doubt the Jehangli have their own such bands of entertainers. What could a troupe of half-trained Dragonlords offer to set them apart from those?”

  Raven saw heads nodding around him, heard murmured words of agreement. And even from where he stood he could see the frustration in the small Dragonlord’s eyes. Though he wasn’t certain her plan would work, he felt sorry for her; if only there was something he could do to help … .

  The image of the Llysanyins guiding the horses up the mountain sprang up before his mind’s eye.

  “Use the Llysanyins.” The words were out of Raven’s mouth before he thought about them. One part of his mind was aghast that he dared speak up in a Dragonlords’ council; he wasn’t even supposed to be here. Still, what was done was done. He might as well go on. “I’ve seen a lord’s crack troops ride intricate formations for show on the parade ground. It’s impressive as all get out; just think what a group of Llysanyins could learn.”

  The Lady searched the faces before her. “You that spoke—you’re Raven Redhawkson of Thalnia, aren’t you? The one who brought Taren here. Come forward, young sir.” Her voice was cold.

  More murmurs, some with an angry undertone that said, What has this truehuman to do with our councils? Someone in the crowd laughed. It was not a friendly laugh. Raven swallowed his fear and made himself walk along the path that opened before him to the Lady’s icy stare.

  Lleld caught his eye; she mouthed, Good try. Thank you.

  “He’s right,” a deep voice behind him suddenly said. Raven jumped; he hadn’t expected support from that quarter. He looked back over his shoulder.

  It was indeed Linden Rathan who eased out of the crowd; he who fell in step beside him, speaking so that all could hear as they made their way through the crowd to stand before the Lady of Dragonskeep.

  They stopped but a few feet from her. Linden turned to face the conclave. “I’ve seen what Raven speaks of, and it could well be a spectacle to build a performance around. It takes years of intensive training to teach an ordinary horse the movements—and nine out of ten horses can never learn above a certain level. That’s why you don’t see a traveling show with something so intricate. Usually the most you’ll get is a horse trained to ‘count’ or sit on command, some simple thing like that.

  “But with Llysanyins, now … . It would be an easy matter to explain what’s needed and devise something with them. And they don’t even need to be ridden for it.” Linden Rathan hooked his thumbs into his wide leather belt, his face thoughtful. “Think how impressive that will look.”

  Raven dared a sideways glance; he met Linden Rathan’s steady, dark grey eyes. “Thank you, Dragonlord,” he murmured.

  The corner of the big Dragonlord’s mouth quirked up. “It’s a good twist on Lleld’s plan, Raven,” he said quietly. “Tarlna was right. None of us would be able to learn enough to put on much more than a performance fit for some second-rate fair. But a spectacle of performing Llysanyins … ah, now, that would be something to see. Remember what Lady Ardelis wrote? This could get us free passage anywhere if the Jehangli do indeed prize horsemanship as much as do we Yerrins.”

  Linden Rathan’s words surprised Raven. So he still thinks of himself as Yerrin; I would have thought he’d forgotten us by now, he’s so far above us. Somehow the idea made him uncomfortable; it left a nagging taste in his mind that he had done the big Dragonlord some wrong.

  No; it was he did me the wrong. But it still vexed him. He turned his attention back to Lleld.

  “It’s a wonderful idea!” Lleld was saying now. “Just the thing; believe me, I know.”

  “I don’t think this is wise,” the Lady snapped.

  Morlen’s big head hovered over them, going from one to the other as the argument went back and forth. It was clear that the two women had forgotten the truedragon even as he considerately spread a wing to shield them from the sun. The carrot-topped little Dragonlord’s hands described extravagant circles in the air, and the regal Lady, white of hair and skin like the Frost Queen of legend, shook her head to Lleld’s unbounded—and overconfident—enthusiasm. Raven was certain he saw a twinkle in the truedragon’s ruby eye.

  “Ah,” Linden Rathan said quietly. “Lady Mayhem will have her way.” To Raven’s confused “Who?” he explained, “Lleld.”

  Lady Mayhem; well and well, Raven could see why that might be. He grinned at the nickname. “But what makes you think—”

  “Morlen’s nodding whenever LI—hush!”

  *It is a good plan; the only one I can see that might work.*

  A sadness that knew no bounds filled the words, spilled over into Raven’s soul. His breath caught on a half-choked sob. He’d never imagined such heartache. And on its heels came bitterness: *For our plan certainly did not.*

  Raven thought of all the truedragons who had died to save their brother. Morlen’s grief washed over everyone like a wave of sorrow. Someone behind Raven wept quietly; his own eyes burned with hot tears.

  Into the heavy silence the Lady said, “But who should go? There’s grave danger there; if you’re right, Seer, the Jehangli priestmages can sense the presence of dragonmagic. Surely they would sense Dragonlord magic as well. How, then, are we to answer this riddle? Magic is needed to free Pirakos, but no truedragon or weredragon may approach his prison. A truehuman may approach safely but has not the magic needed to free your kinswyrm. We’re caught in a cleft stick, Morlen, and I see no way out of it.”

  *Yet there is one who is the answer to your riddle, Jessia,* Morlen said.

  Their gazes met, locked like two warriors testing each other for a weakness. The Lady looked away first.

  “I don’t know,” she said heavily. “I must think on this.”

  She went from them then, alone, back to the castle of Dragonskeep. When Kelder made to follow, she bade him stay with a gesture. The conclave dissolved into small groups, discussing, wondering, debating, arguing.

  Raven wondered of whom Morlen spoke, and why the Lady looked so unhappy.

  Xiane sat stiffly upon
the Phoenix Throne. His face schooled to the mask expected of the emperor, he let his gaze wander the audience room. Ministers and courtiers lined the walls, either waiting their turn to be presented to him and make their reports, or simply to see and be seen in this place of power.

  Before him knelt Lord R‘sao, minister of the imperial salt mines. R’sao droned on and on. Xiane sneaked a glance at Lord Musahi, his old tutor and now Imperial Minister, who sat in his accustomed place at the little desk by the throne. Musahi’s writing brush flew across the rice paper before him as R’sao spouted figures dry as a cloud of dust.

  Thank the Phoenix for Musahi. Xiane knew the Imperial Minister would present him with a report that cut through the layers of flowery language to the heart of each matter. Xiane let his gaze wander again.

  The room stretched out before him. Beams of dark, carved wood arched overhead, stark against the gold leaf that covered the ceiling they supported. Their bases divided the red-lacquered walls into bays. And in each bay hung a golden image of the Phoenix.

  Are Voucher and Yesuin right?

  The thought chilled him. It was especially frightening that V’Choun now believed the heresy—or seemed to. That Yesuin did, Xiane had known for years and accepted of the man he’d come to love as a brother. Of course the barbarian tribes called for the release of the Phoenix; it was the power of the Phoenix that lent strength to the armies of Jehanglan. Without that power …

  So Yesuin naturally wanted to believe in the heresy of the Way. But V’Choun? Xiane knew he’d been friends with Lord Kirano the Heretic—Shei-Luin’s father—before Kirano was exiled; he had not realized that the old general shared Kirano’s beliefs.

  That the two men he trusted most in the world thought this way shook Xiane badly.

  If only there was someone who believed as strongly in the sacrifice of the Phoenix as I do—did?—to stand beside me.