Dragon and Phoenix

by Joanne Bertin

  Nodding, Maurynna halted by him and sat down, grateful for both the respite and that she was still in one piece. Never before had she ridden the stallion at a flat-out run. Indeed, she’d never ridden any horse at that pace; she thanked the gods that her first try had been on a Llysanyin. Boreal wouldn’t let her fall if he could help it. Even so, the high cantle and pommel of the saddle had been all that saved her when they’d zigged and zagged to avoid little gullies and large rocks in the race to the river. More than once she’d grabbed leather and hung on for dear life.

  She lay back on the grass, breathing hard, and realized it was done. She was on her own. Where Linden was right now, she didn’t know, and didn’t dare find out. The effort needed for mindspeech from this distance might be enough to alert the priestmages.

  She didn’t even know if he was still alive. Had he and the others been able to elude Taren’s soldiers? And what had that miserable traitor Taren meant, anyway, by calling her “the key?” More to the point, who was behind the mysterious mindvoice, and the images it had sent?

  She remembered the one of Linden in chains and shuddered.

  Damn Lleld anyway, not letting me bid Linden farewell even by mindspeech! Maurynna thought bitterly. What would it have cost? Tears flowed down her face.

  The answer came unbidden in her mind: mere moments and all of her resolve.

  She couldn’t stay here. She’d turn back if she did.

  Forcing the words out, Maurynna said, “Can Stormwind go on?” At Raven’s nod, she said, “Then we’ll keep walking for a few more candlemarks.”

  “I want to find a stream where Stormwind can soak his foot.”

  “Well enough. When we find one, we’ll rest, set up a rough camp, and stay the night perhaps, if we’re not disturbed. Come dawn, we can be on our way again.” She sat up. A breeze sprang up and dried the tears upon her cheeks. With a muffled oath, she stood up and set off to the north, walking quickly. Boreal followed.

  Behind her, she heard Raven exclaim in surprise. Then came the heavy thud of Stormwind’s hooves upon the hard ground as man and stallion followed.

  Raven trotted up and fell in beside her without a word; she was grateful for that. All that was left to her now was their mission. She was the least of the Dragonlords, but she would do the best she could or die in the trying.

  The hot scent of blood raced through the turmoil of his dreams. He’d not felt such chaos since the dark years. It woke long-buried memories of woe and dread to haunt him once more.

  The old dragon moaned.

  Forty-four

  Their three days of walking to give Stormwind’s foot a chance to heal had slowed them badly. Maurynna had chafed at the delay, but couldn’t argue with Raven. Better to lose time now, than have Stormwind’s hoof fail when they needed a burst of speed. Stormwind had, by constantly stepping in front of Raven and presenting his near side for mounting, conveyed that his foot was better. Raven had insisted on one more day of easy walking.

  To make up for the delay, they’d ridden steadily since then. Two days ago, they’d left the rolling plains. Now they were in a land of grass yellowed by the blazing sun and scrubby pines twisted by the wind blowing incessantly over the flatness stretching all around them. But ever before them loomed the goal that Maurynna’s dreams now urged her to: mountains that jutted up from the flat plain like a row of dragon’s teeth.

  Maurynna marveled at those mountains, bare and stark against the sky. At times they looked as solid as the mountains that she called home now, standing tall and proud since the earth was young. At other times they seemed as insubstantial as a dream; she need but stretch out a hand and they would dissolve like mist.

  She had never seen anything like it back home. It was, she realized, a trick of the light. And even that seemed different here in this part of Jehanglan. It poured around them, lucid and clear, like water running over them. She was tempted to catch some and pour the light from hand to hand like a juggler before casting it back into the air to splash around them once more.

  And over all stretched a turquoise sky that seemed but a stone’s throw overhead. She had seen such expanses of sky while at sea. But never had it seemed so close before; they must be far, far above sea level by now. Nor had she ever seen so much sky while ashore; this was a country of vast distances, a place for giants to stride freely in. She felt like an ant.

  Yet mile by mile, the ever-changing mountains drew closer as the Llysanyins covered the distance with their ground-eating trot. It had been pure torture at first, posting for candlemarks at a time, but now Maurynna’s muscles had adapted. It was, she reflected with grim amusement, a case of either get used to it or curl up and die; as Raven had explained, trotting was the most efficient way for horses to cover long distances.

  A pity she couldn’t quite convince her sore rear of that—especially at the end of a long day. But Boreal’s pace was smooth, thank all the gods, a big, long stride that was easy to ride.

  It could be much worse. Remember that pony you and Raven took lessons on so long ago? A short, clippy trot that damn near rattled the teeth out of you. Even Raven had trouble riding it.

  Maurynna shook her head, remembering those lessons. No, give her a Llysanyin any day if she had to ride for candlemarks on end.

  A memory of one of her early riding lessons with Linden came back to her: “Don’t jump up out of the saddle; you don’t need to do all that work. Just let Boreal drop out from beneath you, and be there when he comes back up.” When, one day, she’d wailed in frustration that she’d never catch the trick of it, Linden had simply said, “You will.”

  So she had—finally. And Linden wasn’t here to witness her triumph, small as it was; he was … The gods only knew where he was right now. She prayed he was safe. As tears pricked the back of her eyelids, she clamped down on the turn her thoughts had taken. Down that path was only misery. Maurynna fixed her mind on the journey.

  One morning, as Murohshei slid an embroidered slipper onto her foot, he said quietly, “Lady, Zyuzin had word from his family. All is made ready as you wished.”

  Shei-Luin went cold inside. It was one thing to plan this, another to take this first step. The stage was set now.

  May the actors never set foot upon it.

  “Thank you, Murohshei,” she whispered.

  “I’m sorry, Favored One,” he said softly.

  She smiled, a sad, wistful smile. “As am I, faithful friend. As am I.”

  Linden looked grimly around as they rode into a large camp. As they passed through it, Zharmatians stopped whatever they were doing to stare at them. An astonished murmur arose at the sight of Yesuin.

  At first Linden thought this might be the main camp of the tribe, as Yesuin had described. That hope died when he realized that there were no children here, no old people; and hanging from every tent was a red horsetail, the Zharmatian symbol of war, he now knew.

  Dzeduin led them to a large tent. “This is where you will stay while word is sent to Yemal.”

  Still astride their horses, their captors watched while they dismounted. Other Zharmatians brought them ropes.

  Linden saw the Llysanyins look at each other. They knew what was afoot.

  Sure enough, the instant saddles and bridles came off, the Llysanyins bolted, knocking the smaller Zharmatian horses aside. Linden watched as they raced into the middle of the small herd of horses the Zharmatians kept as remounts, then tried not to smile as the astonished Zharmatians picked themselves up.

  Well enough; the Llysanyins would be close by if needed. And as soon as the Zharmatians called off the archers and relaxed their vigilance …

  Come hell, high water, or anything else, he was off to find Maurynna. Until then, this was as good a place as any to hide from whatever plans Taren had had for them.

  Forty-five

  “There’s a nice little spot hidden by that copse of trees a bit downriver; a quiet little backwater with a sandy bottom,” Raven announced as he returned to camp one evenin
g, his hair soaking wet and dripping over everything. “Might want to take a quick bath; I just did and it felt wonderful.”

  Maurynna peered blearily up from her blankets. “Does sound wonderful. I’ll wait till morning, though. It’s getting dark now, and I won’t risk coldfire.”

  Besides, she was too sore to move. So much for the vaunted strength of a Dragonlord, she thought wryly. A pity it doesn’t include an iron butt.

  Shima yawned as he swung down from Pirii, his little mare. It had been a long ride from the Sandy Ridge mehanso, and he wanted nothing more than to give two of the rabbits he’d shot on the way home to Zhantse, then go to his mother’s house and fall into his bed; he’d been awake since dawn.

  But when he went inside, Zhantse wasn’t there. His brother Tefira was, though. The boy was stuffing supplies into his saddlebag, a sour, angry expression twisting his features.

  “What’s wrong?” Shima asked, dropping down beside his brother, though he thought he knew.

  “I went into a Seeing trance, but—” Tefira broke off, and threw the saddlebag against the far wall. In a voice thick with unshed tears, the boy said,”I’m to go to the little hut in the meadow again.”

  “More fasting?”

  “More fasting. I don’t understand, Shima. I had visions, true ones, when I was little. I Saw them even with my eyes open. Why won’t they come to me now when I can go into a Seeing trance? Did Zhantse make a mistake, taking me for an apprentice?” The tears finally spilled over.

  Shima held his little brother as he cried. “For what it’s worth, I believe in you, Tef. The visions will come again—you’ll see. Now dry your eyes.”

  Tefira obeyed. “But they won’t come, so I have to stay here and study harder, and meanwhile you get to travel and do exciting things.”

  Shima snorted. “Traveling to Sandy Ridge is hardly exciting.”

  “That’s not what I meant. Zhantse had a Seeing while I was in trance. You’re to travel south, to meet the one that Miune’s been talking about.”

  Confused, Shima asked, “Why?”

  “Because she’s the one from the prophecy.”

  “Oh,” was all Shima could think of to say.

  The next morning, Maurynna found the pocket of sandy beach that Raven had spoken of, and knelt by the river. She scooped up a double handful of water and splashed it over her face.

  Ohh, that feels good. She pulled a wooden comb from her belt pouch and untied the thong holding her hair. Her gaze drifted back to the water. A frond of some aquatic plant she hadn’t noticed before drifted hypnotically to and fro in the current.

  She worked the comb through her hair, dreamily watching the plant as it undulated in the water. First she’d get all the knots out, then give her hair a good washing while she bathed.

  It was a moment before she realized something was wrong about the rippling frond; when she did, she sat up straight, one hand reaching for the dirk at her belt.

  The river’s current in this little backwater wasn’t powerful—but it was brisk. Certainly strong enough to cause anything to flow in one direction only: downstream. This plant, or whatever it was, moved against the current. Suddenly, as if aware of her changed regard, it disappeared.

  Maurynna jumped to her feet. The water heaved and bubbled about a spear length from the shore. She scrambled backward, never taking her eyes from the water, but missed her footing up the earthen bank and stumbled to a halt.

  A large head burst from the water, rose up and up. Maurynna opened her mouth to scream.

  *Do not be afraid,* a voice said inside her mind. There was the boom of a river in spate in the words and the merry tinkle of a mountain stream singing over rocks. *I would not harm thee.*

  With a shock, Maurynna realized she faced a dragon. But it was like no dragon she had ever seen or heard of. She shut her mouth and studied it as it studied her.

  It was blue and green as she was in dragon form, something that gave Maurynna a feeling of kinship. But where she was the deep iridescent shades of a peacock—or so she’d been told; she had little memory of her one flight, Kyrissaean, of course, having been in charge—this dragon was all the blues and greens of turquoise, its scales edged in black. Two feelers grew from each side of its wide muzzle and numerous lacy streamers that looked like river weeds sprouted from around its face and along its neck and back.

  But that made no sense. Then she realized that, though this dragon had short, stubby legs, he had no wings. In fact, she wasn’t certain where his neck ended; his body was long and narrow like a snake’s or—

  An eel. My gods, he’s a water-dwelling dragon!

  *Yes,* he said. *I am. I live in the rivers and lakes of this land. But what, pray tell me, are thee?*

  Maurynna asked, “What do you mean?”

  *I have been following thee and the others for some time now—since before thy party split up. With thee now I sense a human such as dwell in this land. But others of thy companions, those who are not here now—I sensed those who are both dragon and human. Is such a thing possible?* His mindvoice squeaked with excitement.

  He was also, Maurynna saw upon closer examination, not as large as surprise had made him. A sneaking suspicion crept into her mind.

  She also thought she now knew the source of her feeling of being watched. Not waiting for an answer, the waterdragon continued, *But thee—thee I do not sense at all. It is as if thee move through a fog. I see thee before me but there is nothing in my mind when I search for thee. I have a friend like thee.* He waited, feelers and streamers quivering, for her answer.

  Another waterdragon, but one who shared Maurynna’s odd “invisibility?” She said slowly, “Some of my friends—such as the one who is with me—are indeed what we call truehuman. And others of us—myself included—are known as Dragonlords in our lands.”

  *Dragonlords?* the waterdragon asked.

  Maurynna nodded. “Yes. We’re weredragons.”

  The waterdragon reared up a little higher and came down once more, splashing water everywhere. *So it was true what the strange dragons told my parents! * He danced in the shallows, excited as a puppy.

  Maurynna jumped back as a small wave threatened to swamp her feet. Then the import of what the waterdragon said struck her. Could he be speaking of Pirakos? Wait—he’d said “dragons;” could he mean Dharm Varleran as well? “The strange dragons?”

  *Yes. Once, two strange dragons appeared by my parents’ lake. I was still in the egg. My parents, who told me this story, greeted them in wonder, for they had never seen dragons with wings like a bird’s*

  Maurynna thought to herself, That’s fair enough. I’ve never heard of dragons who live like fishes! And the dragon’s words confirmed her suspicion. He’s a youngling—nothing more than a baby by a truedragon’s accounting.

  *They told my parents of the northern lands they had come from, and the mountains that were their home. But one said that the one he loved had died. The urge to explore came upon him, so he wandered far from his home, and the other joined him. My parents told them of this land, of the great phoenix that lives a thousand years and dies in fire only to be born once more from its own ashes. They desired to see the phoenix and flew further inland. It was near the time of the phoenix’s rebirth.*

  The mindvoice turned sad. *My parents never saw the winged dragons again. Then one day the priests came with soldiers, and killed all the waterdragons that they could find. My kind are not warriors and many died. My parents hid my egg. They said they would come back … . *

  The tale broke off in a hiccup of grief.

  “And they never did,” Maurynna said aloud, catching her breath at the lonely pain in the young dragon’s mindvoice. “I’m sorry—” She tilted her head.

  *Miune Kihn,* said the waterdragon.

  She wondered if all the Jehangli water dragons had had two names like Dragonlords, or if Miune was the only one. “And I am Maurynna Kyrissaean,” she said.

  *Are thee a winged dragon like the journeyers?*<
br />
  She forced a smile. “Yes. Here; I will try to make you a picture in my mind.”

  She concentrated on an image of Linden. Slowly she built in her mind the memory of him on their trip from Cassori to Dragonskeep last summer. The glint of sunlight on his deep red scales, the powerful arch of neck and wing as he crouched upon the flower-strewn meadow where they had stopped. She remembered how he’d gathered himself, suddenly springing up, his wings flashing out and down as he rose into the sky.

  Then, before she could stop remembering, Linden’s words, cheerfully ignorant of what was to come: Your turn! She pushed the memory of her failure to Change from her, holding instead the image of a red dragon suspended against a sky of molten blue.

  “Do you see the red dragon that I’m thinking of? That’s my soultwin, Linden, in his dragon form. He’s the big yellow-haired man who was riding the black horse.”

  Miune Kihn huffed in excitement; clouds of vapor billowed from his mouth. *I saw him, I saw him! But what do thee—Hwah! What is this?*

  Maurynna staggered as Kyrissaean surged to the fore.

  I am Kyrissaean! Who are thee? her draconic half proclaimed imperiously, much to Maurynna’s surprise. She was even more surprised that this time her wretched draconic half did not seem intent on suffocating her.

  Miune Kihn did not answer right away. He dropped down onto the sandy beach so that the end of his broad snout nearly touched Maurynna’s nose, and stared into her eyes. When he did speak, Maurynna wanted to laugh despite the pain of Kyrissaean’s intrusion. For Miune Kihn’s tone was exactly the same as she remembered Breslin using from his lofty status as a seven-year-old to her lowly five-year-old self years ago.