Dragon and Phoenix

by Joanne Bertin

  *Thee are rude,* Miune Kihn stated. *Thee have no manners at all.*

  Kyrissaean lashed out at the waterdragon with a blast of anger. Maurynna reeled under the onslaught, and fell to her knees.

  *Brat!* Miune Kihn yelled, and mentally “thumped” Kyrissaean. *Thee are causing thy human pain,* he scolded.

  Kyrissaean snarled in wordless surprise, but Maurynna felt the pain in her head recede to a mild ache. She wanted to applaud but thought better of it; Kyrissaean would no doubt throw another tantrum.

  Tantrum. By the gods, that was just what her draconic half had been doing all along. The revelation was blinding.

  Miune Kihn must have caught the thought from her mind, and all the attendant images and feelings, for he said, *Thee are but a babe, Kyrissaean, one that was woken too early—but even a youngling may have concern for others. Thee were frightened and hurt but thee should not be hurting thy human in return; thy human half is not at fault. I know from her mind that thee should be sleeping for many long years yet. Rest easy, little sister. Leave thy human in peace.*

  A rumble of emotions bubbled through the back of Maurynna’s mind: anger, surprise, remorse, and, most amazing of all, meek compliance. Then, for the first time since her one and only Change, Maurynna was completely alone in her mind. She sat down in astonished relief.

  “What—” she began. Then, “She would never speak to another dragon.” She told Miune Kihn how Kyrissaean had refused to speak to Linden, what had happened the day Morlen the Seer had tried to speak to her. “How did you—?”

  The waterdragon curled back on himself, one feeler tucked into his mouth as he thought. Finally he said, *I think she was afraid of the others. What happened in the meadow with this Morlen the Seer—I would guess he was too old, too powerful; he frightened her and she was already frightened. Even thy soultwin is older. But I am a dragonchild like her. I also saw from thy mind how thee first became what thee are. I think it was too soon—for both of thee. And there was bad magic to hurt thee.*

  Maurynna stood up once more. She moved gingerly; it felt as if her body didn’t quite fit anymore. “I think you’re right,” she said, marveling. How simple it had been—and no one had thought of it save another dragonchild. “My thanks for this, Miune Kihn.”

  *Thee are welcome, Maurynna Kyrissaean. And my friend calls me just Miune. Will thee do the same?* The feelers waved in the air.

  To herself, she thought, Like a Dragonlord’s names. “Of course.”

  Running footsteps sounded in the grove of trees behind her. Before she could stop him, Miune whirled and leaped for the river.

  “No—come back! It’s just my friend!” she cried.

  But Miune did’t heed her. For the first time, Maurynna got a good look at all of the waterdragon as he slid into the water. He was small even for a youngling, she thought, not much more than two spear lengths long, and sleek, save for a noticeably distended stomach. His legs emerged not from beneath his body like a horse’s, as the dragons she knew, but from the sides so that his elbows and knees jutted out. Maurynna guessed he must waddle on dry land. But in his own element Miune was graceful, slipping into the water like some giant otter, disappearing as she watched.

  Raven emerged from the grove of trees and ran down the slope, dirk in hand. “Who were you talking to?” he demanded, his face pale and worried.

  Maurynna pushed the hair back from her face and shook her head. “You’ll never believe this, but a baby dragon found me. Then he spanked Kyrissaean soundly and sent her to bed.”

  Startled, Raven swore and looked up, his eyes searching the skies.

  Maurynna laughed aloud. “Not there.” Pointing to the river, she told him, “There.” At his disbelieving stare, she said, “He was a waterdragon. His name is Miune Kihn.”

  Scowling, Raven said, “Is this a jest? I’ve never heard of a waterdragon.”

  For an answer, Maurynna pointed to the wet sand near her feet. Two unmistakable dragon footprints showed clear in the sand, four long toes to the fore, one to the rear, all tipped with claws. A long, shallow trench—where the young dragon’s body had rested—gouged the sand and disappeared into the river.

  Raven knelt and ran his fingers over the footprints. He whistled, and said softly, “By all the gods … . This is a strange, strange land.” He stood once more and dusted off his knees. “And I can’t wait to finish the task and go home.” He turned sharply to face her. “Does this mean you can Change now?”

  Maurynna put a hand to her mouth. “I don’t know. I could try—no! I can’t!”

  “Why—oh, gods. That’s right. Damn those priestmages. They’d likely sense you. Blast; it would have made finding pasture and water so much easier when we enter those badlands ahead.” He swore, long and hard.

  “Keep that up, and I’ve hopes of making a sailor of you yet,” Maurynna said, laughing. “Here; help me erase these. I don’t want to chance the wrong person seeing them.”

  Together they scuffed out the telltale prints. When they were done, Raven said, “I came to tell you that we’re ready to move on now.”

  It wasn’t until they were well on their way that Maurynna realized she’d never gotten her bath.

  The sun was past the nooning and slipping into the west, casting long shadows from the tents across the ground.

  At least, Linden thought, they were able to walk around the Zharmatian camp while they waited for this Yemal, who was, according to Dzeduin, elsewhere leading raids on the Jehangli. If they’d had to stay inside, he would have gone mad by now. The amount of freedom they were given astonished him; only Yesuin was confined to the tent.

  The only thing they were not allowed to do was approach the herds where the Llysanyins ran free among the tribe’s horses, eluding every attempt by the Zharmatians to catch them. That they were kept from the Llysanyins was of no real concern; all he had to do was bellow orders for their mounts to meet them at such and such a spot, and the Llysanyins would crush anything or anyone in their way.

  The problem, he knew, was getting out of range of the archers long enough for the Llysanyins’ superior speed and endurance to ensure their escape. Whenever any of them left the odd, circular tent given over to their use, they were shadowed as they walked through the encampment. One move toward escape, and a cry would go up.

  Damnation. If only one of us could be in a large enough open area for long enough, I’d say the hell with the priestmages and Change! It would scare the daylights out of the Zharmatians, if nothing else, and the others could escape.

  A lovely plan, and no chance of executing it.

  Grumbling, he wandered to the center of the camp and found Lleld and Jekkanadar there, watching as Otter tuned his harp. Some stout sticks with dried grass bound into their cleft ends lay at her feet.

  “What’s this?” he asked, joining them.

  “We’re supposed to be entertainers, yes?” Lleld said quietly as Otter began a song.

  Linden nodded, watching as some of the Zharmatians drew near in curiousity. They settled down around Otter, listening intently to the unfamiliar music. More joined them.

  “So we entertain, and perhaps they’ll figure they made a mistake and let us go. These people are at war; what use is a troupe of entertainers to them?”

  Hm, Linden thought. Not likely, but it was certainly worth a try.

  Otter played for a long time. When he finished, Lleld bent and caught up four of the sticks. She tossed two of them to Jekkanadar. They walked to an open area and, after jamming the solid ends of the sticks into the ground, lit the dried grass with flint and steel from their belt pouches. When the torches caught and flared up, they pulled them from the ground and tossed them into the air.

  “Light the others, Linden,” called Lleld as she and Jekkanadar threw their torches back and forth to the squealing delight of the Zharmatians, “and at my signal toss them to us.”

  Linden did as she bade, and when her sharp Now! rang in his mind, he tossed the new torches in, first to
one, then to the other, watching as the burning brands joined the elegant dance. The Zharmatians slapped their thighs and yelped in approval.

  “I would be more impressed,” a dry voice said in Jehangli from behind Linden, “did I not know that your kind is immune to fire.”

  Linden spun around. Before him were three people on horses. Dzeduin, he knew. And he had a feeling he knew who the other man was, a cold-eyed man, with a scarred face like Dzeduin’s, who sat his shaggy little horse like a king.

  But it was the third who made the hair on the back of his neck rise. First glance said she was but an old woman, eyes white and sightless, who looked as if she should have been on her death bed long ago. But those blind eyes followed every move, and Linden felt the power within that frail body.

  She cackled. “I know what you are—Dragonlord,” she said.

  It had been an easy thing to get Xiane to wander off deeper into the gardens for another evening walk with her. An offer to show him something new she’d found, coupled with a look from beneath her lashes, and Xiane grinned, showing long white teeth like a horse’s. He’d led her from the pavilion without another word; he knew how these expeditions ended. She’d taken care that he should, and hated herself for the lie.

  So off they went. Shei-Luin knew that many eyed them knowingly, smiling behind their hands. What did she care for their laughter? This was life and death.

  They talked of little things as they walked deeper into the garden—court gossip, the latest rumors, a new poem. Eventually they reached the little woods. “It’s in here, my lord,” she said. He followed her in.

  They walked between the trees, through glades filled with moss and sunshine, and down a faint path. The little deer that roamed this forest watched, unafraid, as they passed. Birds sang overhead, and the rich, humus scent of forest surrounded them like incense.

  Her thoughts roamed ahead to their destination. Soon the day will end; they will be settling down, but not yet asleep, and will be there if I need them. Despite the warmth, the thought sent chills down her spine.

  At last, when she and Xiane neared her goal, Shei-Luin said, “My lord, have you considered what I asked you?”

  “To reconsider abdicating?” Xiane nodded. “I’ve thought about it, Precious Flower, many times. But I’ve truly come to believe that letting the Phoenix go will be best for Jehanglan. The Way must be followed.”

  “It will mean chaos, my lord,” she said. They were only steps away from the place of reckoning now, marked by a scrap of silk so that she could not miss it. She was sickened by what she planned for him. He trusted her; she suspected that he even loved her in his own way.

  They stood now, facing each other in one of the mossy little glades, so like the others; they might have been anywhere in the forest. But there was a difference, one important difference: a steep-sided ravine ran through it. The edge was only a few paces from them.

  And at the bottom of that gutty—

  Everything hung on one final question, a question she never wanted to ask. But ask it she must.

  “If you do abdicate, Xahnu and Xu will die. Whatever lord takes power after you will not suffer such potential rivals to live. Surely, Xiane, you won’t sentence them to death?”

  She no longer had the hypocrisy to call them “your sons” to his face. If she could not be completely honest with Xiane, she would be as honest as she dared.

  He placed his hands on her shoulders and smiled down at her. “Precious Flower, they will be well,” he said, teasing a lock of her hair free so that he could run it through his fingers. “No one will harm them, or us. Why would they?”

  His long, horsey face glowed with sincerity. Xiane truly believed his words. He couldn’t understand why she thought otherwise. She offered him one last chance.

  “History says otherwise.” Wake up, Xiane, and see the mortal danger you place us all in! Put aside your rosy vision of the world! Setting the Phoenix free may be the right thing to do, but is it the wisest? Nothing is black and white, my poor, naive emperor, no matter how you wish it so, she thought sadly.

  He considered that, and her hopes soared. Once she dreamed of being free of Xiane; now …

  “That was in the past, Shei-Luin, and a time of troubles. The world has changed. This is a decision that all will accept and respect. You’ll see.”

  She must be as a sword, hard and cold, cutting away the infected limb lest the rot spread and the body die. Weeping inside, Shei-Luin reached up and gently undid the ties of Xiane’s robe, for it was of heavy silk, and would offer too much protection. All the while he smiled at her like a child expecting its favorite treat.

  The five of them stood before Yemal and some of his men, including Dzeduin, in a tent new to the encampment. It was, Linden noted, larger and painted with strange symbols, unlike any of the others. Bundles of herbs hung from the ceiling ribs, and the fragrant smoke from the lit brazier in the center tickled Linden’s nose. The old woman who Linden now knew was Ghulla, Seer of the Zharmatians, sat on a low, carved stool to one side. She stared straight ahead as if in a world of her own. Linden suspected this tent was hers.

  “First,” said Yemal, speaking Jehangli, “I shall attend the matter of these … traveling entertainers. Is Ghulla right—are you indeed Dragonlords”—he stumbled over the unfamiliar word—“from the north?”

  “Don’t be silly,” Lleld said. “Why? Just because we juggle torches? That’s an old trick where we come from. Don’t Jehangli jugglers have the nerve to try it?”

  “Fire doesn’t hurt Dragonlords,” the old woman said in a voice that creaked like branches in a wind. “And three of you here are Dragonlords—I Saw it.” Her head turned; the sightless eyes fixed on Linden. “The fourth one nears Nisayeh, the Red Lands.”

  The breath caught in Linden’s chest.

  The robe fell to the ground in a puddle of gold. Xiane’s lighter underrobe followed. He stood before her now, clad only in breeches. She stepped away from him, to the edge of the ravine, as if to tease him, and undid her own outer robe. Though it would shield her somewhat from what was coming, its weight would slow her down too much.

  As her robe fell to spill across the moss in its turn, Shei-Luin glanced into the ravine as if by chance. Though she had planned this moment a thousand times, her resolve nearly failed her.

  There, below her, was another scrap of silk marking a hole in the ground. A stray gleam of sunlight glittered on flashing insect wings hovering above it. “My lord,” she said, hating herself, “what’s that?”

  “What is what?” asked Xiane, coming to see.

  He stood beside her at the edge of the little ravine and peered down. She took a careful step back.

  “What did you see, Precious Flo—” He broke off with a gasp of fear. “Shei! We must—

  “I’m sorry, Xiane,” she whispered, and pushed him.

  With a bloodchilling scream, Xiane disappeared into the ravine. Nearly fainting, Shei-Luin fell back a few steps. She heard the sickening thump as Xiane hit the ground, heard him frantically calling her; then she heard the deep, angry buzzing, rising in a wave of sound that drowned all other noises—all save Xiane’s panicked, agonized screams that went on and on, piercing her heart like a knife.

  Then even those stopped. Shei-Luin fell to her knees, crying, tearing at her hair, raking her face with her fingernails, cursing the cruel fate that made her choose between her children and the man she was just discovering the depths of.

  A pain like a hot pincer seared her cheek. She cried out and clapped her hand to her face. When she withdrew it, the body of a red bee fell to the ground.

  She heard Xiane’s words once again: If the others smell their dead sister, they’ll be after us.

  And if she died here as Xiane had died, her sons would be alone. Shei-Luin sprang to her feet. Kilting up her robe, she fled through the forest.

  How does she know? Linden thought in an agony of apprehension.

  “You’re certain these are the ones you Saw
, Ghulla?” Yemal asked.

  “Yes. There’s power about them, like to the power of Miune Kihn. If they—and the other one—stay free, the reign of the Phoenix Lords will end.”

  “And the Way will be restored,” said Yemal. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, eyeing them. “The answer is simple, then, isn’t it? You shall remain the guests of the Zharmatians.”

  “True guests—not prisoners?” Lleld demanded.

  Yemal raised his hands. “I swear it by the Mother of the Herds. The four of you shall be honored guests of the People of the Horse”

  “I witness it,” Ghulla said, “and I shall hold his word in the name of the goddess K’rahi, whose servant I am.”

  Lleld turned to Yesuin, her head tilted in question.

  “No Zharmatian would break that oath,” he said, “especially not when a Seer holds his word.”

  “Done, then,” Lleld said brightly.

  Linden turned to her in dismay. “Are you ma—”

  “Linden, think about it! That bastard Taren and his soldiers are hunting for us up and down the length of Jehanglan even now, I’ll wager. If we leave, we’ll have to spend our time and strength running from him, and he knows the countryside and we don’t. What if he captures us? If something happens to you, Maurynna will know—I’ve heard you talk about how ‘aware’ she is of you. And quite honestly, I don’t trust her not to abandon her mission if that happens.” She paused, staring at Jekkanadar. “I know I would,” she finished quietly.

  Jekkanadar caressed her cheek with his fingertips. “As would I,” he admitted. “I’m with Lleld on this, Linden. We’re safer here.”

  “So be it, then,” Linden said heavily. Then, glancing at the former Jehangli hostage, he said, “What about Yesuin? Is he part of this?”

  “No,” Yemal said shortly. He sauntered the few steps to stand before Yesuin. “Brother,” he purred. “It’s good to have you back from the Jehangli.”