Instead Maurynna made it rest atop the other one on her knees. Linden would know why she touched her eye. She would not bring back those memories for him. Not at this moment.
He covered both of her hands with one of his and squeezed. “Ah, love, it wouldn’t be so bad if Raven knew more. If only I could choose who went with you,” Linden said. “If only I could reach back in time … .”
She knew whom he thought of: his cousin, Bram Wolfson, leader of the mercenary troop Linden had belonged to. The man who’d helped Rani eo’Tsan to her throne in Kelneth, who in his turn had become High Chief of Yerrih. Rider of the first Boreal and the hero of many of the ancient stories and legends Otter had told Raven and her when they were children.
A shiver took her. To her, Bram and Rani were legends from the distant past, stories for a winter’s night by the fire. But the man sitting beside her, who even now slipped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer, had known them, had fought beside them. He had been a legend himself in her eyes.
And now they were soultwins.
And she would have to leave him.
Is nothing ever to go right for us? she demanded of the gods. They didn’t answer. She said, “Tell me the rest of the plan.”
“Nothing much more to tell. Once we’re in Jehanglan, we’ll have Jehangli guides—rather, guards, I’ll wager—with us. Somehow or another we’ll have to make them think you and Raven have been sent back to the port. Taren says he can convince them of it; it’s not unheard of. Or tell them you ran away together, I don’t know. We’ll toss those dice when it’s time. It’s already been decided that you two won’t have any important part in the show. Chailen tells me that Otter’s mare, Nightsong, has rounded up two more of her offspring. Lovely bite marks they had, he said. They won’t bear truehumans, but they’ll take the places that Boreal and Raven’s Stormwind would have played in the performance. That way the Jehangli won’t have any excuse to send us home after you disappear. We can continue to create a diversion and—perhaps—be there if you need us.”
She considered that. “Once we separate, it’s up to Raven and me.”
“Just so,” Linden said. “It’s up to you.”
Gods help her; she didn’t want this kind of responsibility. She wasn’t even a real Dragonlord.
He rose, pulled her up to lean against him. She buried her face against his neck, content to take this moment. His hand stroked her hair.
The door above them creaked open slowly. They looked up.
It was Raven. At the sight of them in each other’s arms, his blue eyes burned; for a moment Maurynna thought he would fly at Linden. Then something changed in his face and the anger fell away.
“Dragonlord,” he rasped and stopped. Clearing his throat, Raven went on, “From the stories my great-uncle told us when we were little, I know that you were a soldier.” He paused. His mouth worked as if what came next was hard.
“True,” Linden said into the silence.
What is this all about? Maurynna wondered.
Raven took a deep breath. “I’m not. I’m not what Maurynna needs for this venture. I’m just the best you’ve got here and now. But I—I …” He drew himself up. “Linden Rathan, I know I can’t learn it all, it would take too long, but will you teach me what you can of fighting?”
At first Maurynna thought Linden would refuse, he took so long to answer. His hand ceased stroking her hair. Then—
“I’d do that gladly, Raven,” he said quietly.
Raven’s chin went up. “Thank you, Dragonlord. I’ll do my best.”
Linden smiled, a sad little half twist of his lips. “I know that. That’s why I insisted on you. And, seeing as we’re all in Lady Mayhem’s little mess together, it’s Linden. I’ll work you hard, make no mistake, but I’m fair.” He held out a hand. “Done?”
Maurynna wanted to cheer when Raven came down the few steps and caught Linden’s hand in a firm clasp.
“Done … Linden,” Raven said. “When do we start?”
“Tomorrow,” said Linden. “Early.” His smile turned to pure little-boy wickedness; it was a look Maurynna knew well. “Very, very early. And you, love”—he smiled down at her upturned face—“are included.”
Her outraged, “What!” brought only laughter. She fumed at him; he only laughed more. “Damn you,” she muttered. “You know I don’t like that sort of thing.”
“I’ll rest the easier for it, love, if I know you can defend yourself to your utmost,” he said, no longer laughing. “Yes, you know a bit; it’s not enough.” His hand clenched on her back. “It’s not enough,” he whispered.
The workday was ended at last! Liasuhn went from table to table, bucket of clean sand in one hand, stiff-bristled brush in the other. With a practiced motion, he dumped a fine sprinkling of sand across each wooden table and scrubbed it with the brush until it was clean. A final few swipes sent the last of the sand to the dirt floor.
Only one table still had customers at it: two men, agents for an incense merchant, who had come in frequently the past span of days. Jolly fellows they were, too; quick with jokes, and generous. They always left him a little extra when they paid for their bowls of soup and millet. Liasuhn smiled and waved his brush at them.
“You’re in a hurry tonight,” one said. He grinned and waved Liasuhn over to join them.
With a glance over his shoulder to make certain his father was still in the kitchen, Liasuhn pulled up one of the drum-shaped stools and sat with them.
“I am,” he confessed. “There’s a dice game in the back of old Saji’s fish shop in a bit. The old man is away from the village tonight, so his apprentices are making the most of it. Old Saji’s a real bastard.”
The other man, he of the crooked nose, laughed. “You lose, brother; it wasn’t a wench after all.”
The first speaker pulled an exaggerated frown. “Hell—I was certain it was a girl, handsome lad like that. But even I’m not right all the time,” he grumbled, and flipped a coin from the pocket in his sleeve at his friend. His ever-present smile returned an instant later, showing no hard feelings.
An idea came to Liasuhn. “Do you like to gamble?” he asked.
“Shall we wager on where the sun will rise tomorrow?” the cheerful one countered.
Liasuhn grinned. “Want to come to the dice game with me? We could use a few more players.”
“Lad, we’d love to. I’m Kwahsiu, by the way, and this ugly fellow is my old friend Nalorih. You’re Liasuhn, yes? Thought I’d heard your father call you that. And just so you don’t make a complete liar out of me, how about the three of us go find a lusty wench to take us all on after the game?”
Liasuhn nearly swallowed the wrong way. He could rarely afford a prostitute, even at the rundown sty known as the Silver Parrot. But the thought of having a woman tonight made his face grow warm. “I’d like to, but …”
“Afraid you won’t have the coin?” Nalorih said sympathetically. “We could skip the game.”
Liasuhn squirmed uncomfortably on the stool and sighed. “Even if … You see, my … Oh, damn.”
“Say no more,” said Kwahsiu, spreading his hands. “We understand. Your father has forgotten how the juices flow when a man is—?”
“Eighteen,” Liasuhn filled in, pleased at being called a man. His father still thought of him as a child.
“Eighteen,” Kwahsiu echoed. “No doubt he can’t get it through his head you’re not a boy anymore. And I’ll wager he’s stingy as a crab with your allowance, am I right?”
Another sigh. “Yes. Very.”
Kwahsiu rolled his eyes. “Think of it, brother,” he said to Nalorih. “All those poor wenches deprived of this handsome lad. It’s a crime, it is, and one that I think we must remedy in the name of charity to the poor girls. Why, look at him—looks enough like the emperor to be his little brother, doesn’t he?”
“He does indeed.”
Liasuhn looked down modestly. He confessed, “Chiyual, our old village priest
, said much the same once—he’d seen the emperor at one of the big temples while he was on pilgrimage. Chiyual said it was because I took after my grandmother. She was Zharmatian.”
Kwahsiu’s eternal smile grew wider. “I thought it might be something like that. Well now, Liasuhn, why don’t you get this last table cleaned and we’ll be off? Never mind the dice game; I think I know just the wench for us.”
Taren sat by a window in his quarters watching the last of the sunset paint the sky. His master, he thought, would enjoy this view. A moment’s thought, and Lord Jhanun would compose a poem comparing the scarlet-streaked sky to, to—well, to something. And he would listen, and realize how true, how apt, the words were, that that was just what the sky looked like.
“What,” he mused aloud, “might Lord Jhanun—”
He broke off as his servant entered. “Sir, Lleld Kemberaene would speak with you. She asks if you are well enough to receive her.”
May the gods damn it all! What the hell do these people want now?
“Of course!” he said, turning a delighted face to the kir. “My friends are welcome anytime!”
When the little Dragonlord came in, Taren rose from his seat like a man much older.
Her forehead wrinkled in concern, Lleld Kembaraene said, “Oh, Taren, I’m sorry. Are you not feeling well today?”
“My friend, the sight of you eases all my pains,” Taren said, bestowing a smile upon her. When she answered it with one of her own, he asked, “And to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Lleld?”
“We need a map of Jehanglan,” she said. “Can you make one for us? One of the scribes can help you if you need.”
Damn. He’d been afraid it would come to this. Like the teaching of the language, it was something he couldn’t lie about. If one of these cursed creatures took it into his or her head to ignore his warning against Changing and flew over enough of Jehanglan, they’d soon see any errors. No, this was another thing he must do without trickery.
In a tone of mixed admiration and surprise, he said, “Ah—what a fool I am! I should have thought of that long ago. Of course I shall make a map for you. It will be my pleasure.”
To see you in chains, he finished to himself.
Never had he even dreamed of going to such an expensive brothel! This was the only good one in town, the one used by any lords and rich merchants passing through when the captains of their river barges stopped to take on supplies. The bed was covered in silk, there were pen-and-ink drawings on the walls, and the cups they drank good rice wine from were of fine white clay. No broken bedframe here, no holes in the wall for the rats to wander through. There were even fresh flowers in a vase by the bed, and the woman was young enough and pretty, and had all her teeth.
Liasuhn could not believe his luck in meeting these men. He hoped they truly would take him on as an apprentice as they’d hinted they might. Then he, too, could learn to be an agent for a successful merchant! No more dishing out millet and cleaning tables … .
At a low, throaty moan, he nearly dropped the dice in the game he and Kwahsiu ostensibly played while Nalorih took first tumble with the woman. Without his willing it, Liasuhn peeked. It seemed the wench was certainly giving Nalorih his money’s worth. Liasuhn looked away, embarrassed.
The thought of bedding a woman with someone else present both repelled and excited him. He gulped down more wine. It hit his stomach with a burn that went straight to his head. He sneaked another quick look; Nalorih certainly didn’t seem to care that he had an audience.
Kwahsiu poured a little more wine into his cup with a wink and a grin that said, Not too much, now! Liasuhn raised the cup in a toast and drank.
Once again, the wine went straight to his head, and this time rubbed off the last edges of his fears and inhibitions. Forgetting any manners, he watched openly now, breathing heavily. The dice lay forgotten on the table.
Sight and sound and scent nearly overwhelmed him. It was much too hot in the room. Liasuhn opened the neck of his robe. It didn’t help.
When Nalorih finally rolled off the woman, and she turned on the bed and beckoned him with a smile, Liasuhn nearly tore his clothing in his hurry to undress. She laughed as he flung himself on her.
As he took the woman in a frenzy of lust and wine, Liasuhn heard Kwahsiu say with a laugh, “He’s certainly no eunuch, is he, brother?”
Liasuhn grinned drunkenly. No, he certainly wasn’t, and set about proving it with a will.
Twenty-two
A few days later, in answer to Lleld’s mindcall, Linden and Maurynna arrived in time to find Jekkanadar at the door to the library. He paused, hand on the latch, waiting for them. Maurynna waved a greeting.
“Lleld is already inside, and Otter and Raven on their way,” he said. “They should be here soon.” He pulled the door open and went in.
They followed. Once more Master Pren sat at his table; he favored them with a glare and a sniff before bending over his books again, the quill pen in his hand quivering as if indignant at yet another interruption.
The door to the study room—now a planning room—opened. Jenna peered out and beckoned them to enter. “You’re moving much more easily today, Maurynna. Not so sore anymore?”
“Not anymore—though no thanks to this brute,” Maurynna said, giving Linden a mock frown. But the practice sessions were getting easier, she had to admit.
They filed in. Lleld and Taren stood side by side at the far side of the table, bending over a large sheet of parchment that stretched across it; books weighed down the four corners. Taren drew a finger across the parchment, explaining something in an undertone to the little Dragonlord. Her fiery red head nodded in understanding.
What they studied was upside down to Maurynna, but she could guess what it was. Lleld’s next words confirmed it.
Lleld looked up as Jekkanadar came around the table to join her. “It’s finished,” she said. “Taren’s map. Come look.”
Her heart thudding, Maurynna made her way around the table, Linden right behind her. Somehow, this made things more real. As if before had been part of one of Otter’s tales, but now …
It took a moment to orient herself, even accustomed as she was to sea charts. Seeing the southern tip of Assantik at the upper edge of a map disconcerted her. This was much further south than she’d ever thought to journey.
Jehanglan sprawled across the sheet, a full calf’s hide. Large areas were marked; desert, mountains, plains, and others. There were cities shown in red and the inked lines of rivers like veins running blue through the Phoenix Kingdom. One mighty river ran from a range of mountains at the edge of a northern desert through the heart of Jehanglan to the sea in the southeast. Its name was scribed along the length of it.
“The Black River,” Linden read aloud.
“The blood of Jehanglan,” Taren said. “And here is the heart of that country—Mount Rivasha, the home of the Phoenix.” He pointed to a drawing of a cone-shaped mountain with what looked like flames spurting from it. It lay in the center of the area defined as Jehanglan. There were smaller figures around the mountain, a series of little squares.
Buildings? Another look and Maurynna wondered if the other squiggles were indeed flames. Could the “phoenix” of Jehanglan be merely an active volcano? Was the truedragon held prisoner in an effort to ward off an eruption?
Then the great fiery bird Morlen told us of is simply how the Jehangli imagine the power of that volcano. Would that make any difference to their quest?
“Where is Pirakos held prisoner?” she asked.
The crooked finger swept north, traced one of the lines of mountains seaming that part of the map. “Here; the Iron Temple at Mount Kajhenral.”
“The Iron Temple? Is it truly made of iron?” Jekkanadar broke in. “And what does ‘Kajhenral’ mean?”
“No, the temple isn’t made of iron.” A thoughtful look on his face, Taren scratched his head. “Do you know, I never asked why it was called that. I just accepted it. But I can
tell you the rest: Kajhenral-cha’a Choor is the full name; it means the Place of Dragons, the Place of Nightmares.” Taren smiled the sweet smile that was so striking in his sallow, wrinkled face. “The character for dragon—kajhenral—is the same as for nightmare. The Jehangli are fond of such word games.”
“Humph,” was all Lleld said as she studied the map once more. Then, pointing to a spot on the northeastern coast, “And is this the port where we shall land?”
“Jedjieh. Yes; there we will find a sponsor and guide,” he said.
“Aren’t you afraid of being made a slave again, Taren?” Linden said.
“No.” Again the sweet smile. “Jehanglan is large; there is room to hide, even for a bai—even for an outlander.”
Studying the map a little more, Maurynna noticed that north of the range of mountains that included Mount Kajhenral, and west of a smaller river far to the west that ran parallel with the Black River for a good portion of its course, there were no cities or villages marked. The rest of the map was dotted with them.
“What’s here and here?” she asked, pointing to them.
Taren frowned. “Barbarians live there,” he said shortly. “They are as nothing.”
Linden, Maurynna noticed, gave Taren an odd look. “What are their names?” he asked.
Taren’s lips pursed as if he disliked the taste of the words. He stabbed a finger at the northern mountains. “Here live the Tah’nehsieh. Their land is dry and barren, and they live in caves, it is said.” His finger dragged a reluctant way to the western portion of the map. “And here are the People of the Horse, the Zharmatians.”
“‘People of the Horse?’” said Linden. “And why are they called that?”
“They’re nomads, wandering with their herds from place to place in the grasslands. They live in tents and once waged war against the Jehangli. They’re barbarians.” His teeth clicked shut on the last word as if he no longer wished to speak.
“So there’s peace now?” Linden prodded.
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