“Don’t worry about me; all will be well. Jehanglan is large, and we’ll be nowhere near the salt mines,” Taren said with perfect truth. “I must be with you to guide your steps. Again—don’t worry about me. I do this of my own free will.”
Nineteen
The gardens of the Assantikkan emperors were as beautiful as story had them. Sulae Shallanan admired them, running her fingers along a fragrant jasmine flower. Though she herself was Assantikkan, she had never seen the lauded gardens while she had lived in this land; donkey herders were not invited to visit Dawn Emperors.
Dragonlords were, especially when they came on urgent errands from the Lady of Dragonskeep. She smoothed the black silk of her gown and nodded to the servant. “I’m ready,” she told him.
The man bowed deeply. As deeply, Sulae suspected, as he would for the Dawn Emperor himself, judging by the awe she’d seen in the man’s eyes. An emperor was something seen every day; a dragon who alighted in a courtyard and Changed into a woman was not. The servant went off on cat-soft feet and a swirl of silk robes. Sulae wandered the garden as she waited.
When the Dawn Emperor came, it was a surprise. There were no attendants, not even the awestruck viziers who had greeted her earlier when she’d landed. There was only Chakkarin himself, striding swiftly and decisively along. She studied him as he approached her.
Tall and slender like most Assantikkans, with his hair in the traditional “hundred braids” of royalty, Chakkarin reminded Sulae of his great-grandmother, an adventurous woman who had made the journey to Dragonskeep long, long ago as truehumans reckoned such things. His black beard was short and neatly trimmed, flecked here and there with grey. More grey showed at his temples. Lively eyes danced in a dark, lean face.
So very like Famissa, he is. The thought gave her pleasure. Chakkarin’s ancestress had been a delight, a young woman with a quick, agile mind and a talent for riyudal, a kind of traditional Assantikkan poetry. Sulae, on the other hand, was a listener who appreciated the nuances a master could bring to the complicated form. Famissa had been one of her few truehuman friends.
Famissa’s great-grandson came before her, studied her for a moment. Then a warm smile lit his face and he bowed. “Dragonlord,” he greeted her. “Sulae Shallanan. It is an honor and a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace.”
Sulae made him a courtesy. “You lend me honor, Your Majesty,” she said. “I thank you for it, and for agreeing to meet me upon such short notice.”
“We rarely hear from Dragonskeep this far south, Your Grace, so I’m delighted at this unexpected visit. Your message said that you had a request from the Lady, yes?”
Sulae nodded. “Yes. The Saethe met three days ago; my mission is the fruit of that.”
“And this mission is something urgent and private, your message also said. That’s why I suggested we meet here.” He waved a hand at the garden. “No chance of eavesdroppers.” He offered her his arm. “Shall we walk in the gardens, then, my lady?”
She threaded her arm through his. “Let us, my lord.”
As they wandered deeper into the garden, the Dawn Emperor said, “Word came to me that dragons—many dragons—were sighted in the wilds not long ago. Hunters were the first to see them; they sent the word on. The dragons hunted and rested, then went on. The next word came from the coast—dragons landed with the dusk and left long before the dawn.
“Then, only a day later, they returned.” Chakkarin stopped walking. His voice dropped. “And there were far fewer than before. Dragonlords or truedragons, my lady?”
“Truedragons.”
“And those that did not come back?”
Sulae Shallanan took a deep breath. “Dead. Most in a magical battle with the Phoenix. Those too wounded to fly were killed as a mercy by their kin rather than be left in Jehanglan.”
His eyes closed a moment and he shuddered. “May the gods have mercy,” said Chakkarin. “Has this visit something to do with that tragedy?”
“Yes,” said Sulae. She slid her arm from his and began walking again, arms folded tight against her chest to hold back the tears. She did not speak. She could not. He kept pace silently.
When she was in control of her emotions once more, she waited until they were well away from the garden borders where a spy might hide. When she judged they had reached a safe place, she stopped, finger to lips, listening. Chakkarin stood motionless.
No; no sounds that should not be here in the quiet garden. Only a distant cicada thrumming in the hot, sweet-scented air, and the nearby hum of bees, sleepy and content. Sulae knew that if anyone was close enough to overhear them speaking quietly together, she would hear their breathing with her unnaturally sharp hearing.
The Dawn Emperor tilted his head in inquiry.
Sulae smiled at him. “We are indeed alone, my lord. We may speak now. First I have a question for you, Your Majesty: do troupes of entertainers still travel to Jehanglan?”
She nearly laughed aloud at his look of astonishment. Whatever the poor man had expected, it certainly wasn’t this.
“Why—yes,” he finally managed to say in bewilderment. “More than ever in the last ten years or so; Xiane Ma Jhi, the present Phoenix Lord, delights in jugglers and tumblers and the like, and many of his lords follow his taste. There is always demand for new entertainments. House Mhakkan frequently puts together large troupes by combining smaller ones or sometimes certain performers from various troupes.”
That fit with what Taren had told the Saethe. And Lleld had guessed right for once. No, Sulae amended, Lleld had guessed right again; she would be pleased. The Lady would not. Though the Lady had agreed to Lleld’s plan, Sulae had heard the reservation in her voice when she’d bade Sulae undertake this mission. The least setback, and the Lady would dismiss the whole idea.
But what other chance did Pirakos have? For once the Lady was wrong. And may the gods have mercy on Pirakos that his best chance is one of Lleld’s mad schemes.
“Good. Very good,” she continued. “Hear then, the favor the Lady of Dragonskeep would ask of you. In the spring there will come a ship bearing a very special troupe of entertainers, my lord. The Lady asks that you give them what aid they might need, see that when the time is right they are taken to Jehanglan, and safely brought away again.”
The Dawn Emperor slid a glance full of speculation at her. “That’s all?”
“That’s all,” said Sulae.
“And will you tell me what this is about, Your Grace?”
“It’s better you do not know, Your Majesty.”
It was plain his curiosity was eating the man alive; just like Famissa, he was! But the emperor of Assantikkan did not beg or even cajole. He did look very frustrated. Sulae gave him a smile but nothing else.
His mouth curved in a wry grin. “You drive a hard bargain, Your Grace. May I hear the tale when it is over?”
“Done,” Sulae said as she clapped her hands in the ancient signal of a sealed bargain. She held out her right hand, palm up.
“Done.” He placed his own palm over hers. She was pleased to see his expression did not change at the sight of her webbed fingers. He was very like his great-grandmother; she wondered if he composed riyudal, as well. She would ask when she returned.
He said “I will see to it that all is prepared for these … entertainers. How long will you favor us with your presence, my lady?”
“My errand is done and time is short,” Sulae said with regret. “I must return to Dragonskeep immediately.”
“Then may the gods go with you,” Chakkarin said, “and the wind sing under your wings, Sulae Shallanan. Come back and tell me the tale when you can.”
“I will,” she promised. “I will.”
Hodai trotted behind two priests, listening as they discussed the conditions of their fellows injured in the dragons’ attack. They paid no attention to him. It was surprising, he mused, how many thought him deaf as well as dumb.
No matter; it served him well from time to time, as it did now.
“What about Nisse?” one priest asked.
“His attendants said he opened his eyes yesterday. They hope he’ll recover soon, as Teurun and Cham did. That’s how it goes, it seems. If they come out of that unnatural sleep, they live. If not, they go the way Domhiou did—straight to the Phoenix. And the longer they stay asleep, the less likely they’ll come out of it.”
The first speaker clucked his tongue. “Who else still sleeps? One never hears anything at the hall for the pilgrims.” He looked, Hodai thought, like a wet hen.
The other rattled off a list of names, but the only one Hodai noticed was Haoro’s. He looked down at the floor to hide a smile as the speaker went on.
“And it’s said his uncle is furious, though no one knows why. It’s not as if uncle and nephew were close, though Lord Jhanun comes here often on pilgrimage, and the two of ’em talk for hours. From all I’ve heard, Lord Jhanun disapproved of his sisters’ marriages, and never did a damn thing to aid their families when they fell on hard times.”
“I’ve always heard Lord Jhanun is a very pious man,” the wet hen said as they turned down another set of hallways.
“Then why doesn’t he go to Mount Rivasha instead of here? It’s holier, and much closer to the capital where he spends most of his time,” his friend complained, his voice fading with distance. “That cold face of his gives me the chills.”
Hodai went past the turn. Now he no longer bothered to hide his smile. He should, he decided, see if he could visit Haoro’s sickroom. He wanted to see for himself that his master’s enemy still slept like one dead.
At another crossing of hallways, Hodai turned and trotted on.
Twenty
Sulae had finally returned from her mysterious errand; not even her soultwin had known where she’d gone, she’d left in such haste. Or perhaps that was just Janno’s defense against Lleld’s rampant curiosity. If it was, Linden couldn’t blame him.
But now Sulae was back. And after a short consultation with her, the Lady had sent for Linden, Lleld, and Jekkanadar.
The meeting was short and stormy. When it was over, the Lady was angry, Lleld elated. Jekkanadar said nothing. Linden didn’t know whether to be pleased or afraid as he left the Lady’s quarters.
For a time he wandered the halls of Dragonskeep, lost in thought, until he found himself staring out a window.
Another grey day; they would have to leave Dragonskeep and the north very soon now or risk being snowed in because Maurynna, Otter, Raven, and Taren couldn’t fly.
And that meant they had to find mounts for the three truehumans. Llysanyin mounts. Linden hoped it wouldn’t prove an impossible task. He reached out with his mind to warn Otter.
Shei-Luin lolled among the pillows of the bed as Tsiaa painted her toenails with henna paste. She’d forgotten how tired she got during the early stages of pregnancy. She closed her eyes, letting herself drift off. If Yesuin dared the tunnels tonight, she wanted to be awake for it!
A mumble of voices brought her back from the near shore of sleep. Blinking, she pushed herself upright as Murohshei entered her chamber. His expression was so odd, it alarmed her at first. Then she realized he was trying not to laugh.
“What is it?” she asked suspiciously.
“Flower of the West, his Imperial Majesty sends you this delicacy,” Murohshei said. That done, Murohshei stepped to one side and bowed low as another eunuch—one of the oldest Shei-Luin had ever seen, and that meant one of some importance—entered the room. At the sight of the pale yellow robe and sash of deep gold that marked a body servant of the emperor, Tsiaa went to her knees and bowed to the eunuch. He ignored her.
In his hands he bore a covered tray of gold; the handle of the lid was a phoenix. Honor of honors—this was one of the emperor’s own dishes. An aroma of cooked meat wafted from it. It threatened to turn Shei-Luin’s stomach; she swallowed again and again until the weakness passed.
The emperor’s eunuch shuffled forward and set the tray on the little table that Murohshei hastily placed by the bed. Then the old man knelt and knocked his forehead against the floor. Finally, he uncovered the tray. Upon it lay an odd-shaped, unappetizing lump of something in a sauce of cloud mushrooms. The smell filled the room in a burst of gamey richness.
Shei-Luin clapped her hand over her mouth. She would not vomit! After a moment, she could lower her hand enough to ask, “What is it?”
The eunuch’s head bobbed up, revealing a nearly toothless grin. His voice high and quavering like an old woman’s, he said proudly, “Tiger liver, Flower of the West. Tiger liver to insure a male child, and a strong one. His Imperial Majesty hunted it himself just for you, as his father did for his mother. I had the honor of presenting that one as well.”
Shei-Luin closed her eyes. She despised liver. Trust Xiane not to remember—or had he even thought to inquire after her dislikes? That tiger liver was a traditional viand for the mother of an imperial heir did not comfort her. She could only thank the Phoenix that she had somehow escaped it the first time. This time, though …
She would have to eat the revolting thing, and under the benevolent gaze of Xiane’s eunuch, who would report back to Xiane.
Think of the throne of Riya-Akono.
That thought was all she had to sustain her. Opening her eyes once more—but averting her gaze—she motioned to Murohshei to bring eating utensils.
The old eunuch beamed as proudly as if he’d caught the tiger himself. Murohshei cut off a small bit and fed it to her. Somehow she choked it down.
Whatever I must do to become empress for my children’s sake, I will do. No matter what it is.
Linden slipped into the small chamber off of the main room of the library; he sat in one of the chairs near the door. Maurynna flashed him a wink. Kharine gave him an absentminded salute, her attention on her pupil. He spared a quick glance for the banded candle burning in its holder on the table.
It was near the sixteenth candlemark; Maurynna’s lessons for today should be over soon. He watched her, black head bent over the book between her and Kharine, reading aloud softly. Now and again the kir tutor would interrupt, correcting a pronunciation here, explaining a word there when the reading faltered. At those times Maurynna took quill pen in hand and jotted down notes on the sheet of parchment before her.
She continued reading. Her accent was good, Linden realized, much better than his. She had easily caught the proper pronunciation of arolan, the common tongue of Dragonskeep. He, on the other hand, had never rid himself of his Yerrin mountain accent—not that he’d seriously tried. Sometimes it was useful to let people think he was the country bumpkin he sounded.
But Maurynna’s ease with the finer nuances of the Dragonlord’s language revealed her privileged upbringing. No doubt as a scion of a wealthy trading family, she’d had tutors to teach her at least some of each language of the Five Kingdoms as well as Assantik, and to make certain she sounded as much like a native as possible.
How she must have surprised those same tutors with her quickness, Linden mused, thinking of the innate Dragonlord talent for languages. Just as Bram and Rani were when I learned their mercenaries’ tongue, the meijas, so fast.
It was, he reflected, amazing what a band of soldiers from different countries could cobble together for a common language. A mongrel thing it had been, bastard child of five languages and a dozen dialects, but it had worked as well as the Dragonlords’ cultured language, centuries in the making. He lost himself in memories of the past as the soft voices murmured in conversation. The shutting of the book brought him back from his half drowse.
“Very good, Maurynna,” Kharine said. “Keep on like this and you’ll easily pass for one born to Dragonskeep.” She closed the book and tucked it into her scrip lying on the table.
Maurynna smiled. “Only because I have such a good teacher.” She stood up and stretched a little. “Ahh, I’m stiff!”
Shouldering the scrip, Kharine smiled in return and started for the door. “A ride would do you good; it
was a long lesson today.” She nodded pleasantly as she passed Linden. He saluted her in return.
When they were alone Linden said, “She’s a good tutor, isn’t she?”
Maurynna said, “Very. She’s patient and has a way of explaining things so that they stick. I enjoy the lessons with her much more than some of the others.”
He grinned, knowing that she spoke of her tutor for courtly Assantikkan. Gaddo could indeed be a stuffy prig. “Then I’m sorry to say that your lessons with her must cease for now,” Linden said.
“Wha—why?” Maurynna asked in dismay.
“You’re to have double lessons with Gaddo.” He laughed at her look of horror. “Love, you’re too easy to tease! No, it’s because from now on you’ll be studying with Taren,” Linden replied, turning serious. “All of us—that is, you, Lleld, Jekkanadar, Otter, Raven, and I—will be studying with him.”
He nodded as comprehension dawned in her eyes. “Just so. The Lady has consented at last to Lleld’s plan.”
So; it was to happen even as Lleld wished. The Lady rubbed her forehead, seeking to banish the headache forming behind her eyes.
Sirl approached her where she stood by the window in the dining room of her private quarters. “Lady, Taren Olmeins is here in answer to your summons,” he said. “Do you wish to see him now?” The kir’s tone chided, You should rest, and his eyes were stern.
The Lady smiled at him. There was no greater tyrant than a faithful servant. “Yes,” she said. “I’ll see him now.” She held up a hand as Sirl pursed disapproving lips over his fangs. “I promise you; it will be short. A request of him, nothing more.”
The tilt of Sirl’s head told her he would hold her to that. He went off to fetch Taren.
The Lady rubbed her forehead again. Once this was done, she would send for Fiaran, the Keep’s Simpler; perhaps the herbalist would have something for her aching head.
Sirl entered once more, Taren close behind. The truehuman bowed to her in the Kelnethi manner, hand on heart. It surprised her a little. She knew his history, knew that he’d been raised a Yerrin.
Dragon and Phoenix Page 21