Dragonshadow

by Elle Katharine White

  “The right thing,” I whispered. Louder, I said, “Madam Mòrag has been the housekeeper of Castle Selwyn for years. She knows it better than anyone here.” We stopped at the end of the table between Brigsley-Baine and Dougal. “Lord Daired, I’d like to offer Madam Mòrag as a candidate for the stewardship of Castle Selwyn.”

  Alastair smiled. “Madam Mòrag, do you have any objections?”

  “I—well—Lord Daired, I’m not . . .” She looked around at the faces watching her with varying degrees of bewilderment, tightened her grip on her crutches, and straightened. “It would be an honor, sir.”

  Polton and Bloodhound exchanged a glance. Polton looked blank. Bloodhound only shrugged.

  “Excellent!” Rhys cried. “Lord Daired, as master of the colloquy you have until sunset to make your decision. I believe we’ll all be—”

  “No need, Captain. I’ve made up my mind.”

  “Sir?”

  “Magistrate Polton—”

  Rhys’s face fell.

  “—and Madam Mòrag.”

  Brigsley-Baine tucked a strand of hair under her cap. “A joint stewardship, Lord Daired? That’s rather irregular.”

  “But not without precedent, Cantor Brigsley-Baine!” Subcantor Carle said. He pulled a sheaf of notes from his pocket. “There are accounts going back as far as the time of High Cantor Idwalion. I read it only the other day. Before the Selwyns there were, let me see . . .”

  “Yes, yes, Carle, we believe you,” Brigsley-Baine said.

  “Madam Mòrag will continue to manage the household,” Alastair said. “Magistrate Polton will have responsibility of the lake trade. They will consult together as needed on any matters in which they share interest. Is this decision acceptable to the colloquy?”

  A number of “ayes” and “yes, my lords” went up from around the table.

  “Very well.” Alastair raised his glass. “A toast, then. To Madam Mòrag and Magistrate Polton, stewards of Castle Selwyn and Keepers of the Lake.” The others stood and followed suit, raising their wine goblets to whichever of the two was closest. “Madam, Magistrate, your good health.”

  Mòrag blushed.

  The toasts were drunk, blessings said, or in the case of Furry Bundle, muttered, and the colloquy of Castle Selwyn came to an end. Few lingered. We said goodbye to Furry Bundle and Bloodhound in the front hall. Damp Handkerchief and his retinue cut our farewells short as they hurried out after them, sniffling something about needing a word with the local tavern-master.

  Magistrate Farrell chuckled as we watched them sort out their horses in the courtyard. “That man will need quite a few words with the tavern-master before he works up the courage to tell Langdred what we’ve decided,” she said. “But it was fair.” She touched her forehead. “Thank you both for what you’ve done here today. How long do you plan to stay in Lake Meera?”

  “As long as it takes,” Alastair said. “We’ve still a monster to slay.”

  “Yes, of course, and best of luck on the hunt. But a word of advice from a fellow Rider, my lord: find this creature before the snows blow in. Dragon or no dragon, you don’t want to get caught in these mountains in a bad storm. We might not find you until spring.”

  “We’ll be careful,” he said.

  “Good.” Farrell tucked her cane beneath her arm and tied her cloak around her. “Wherever the gods take you, I hope they grant you every happiness along the way. Mikla grant that we meet each other again, and perhaps next time under better circumstances.”

  “Magistrate Farrell, may I have a word?” Chirrorim asked before she could signal the groom for her horse.

  They moved into the courtyard together, switching to Beorspeak before they’d gone half a dozen steps. Alastair smiled as he shut the door behind them.

  “What were they saying?” I asked.

  “He asked if he could accompany her back to town. He wants to know how she adjusted after the death of her beoryn. Yes, Cantor?”

  The embassy from Morianton still lingered at the mouth of the Lake Hall, where Mòrag and Polton were already deep in discussion. Rhys was nowhere to be seen, and Brigsley-Baine was waving us over. “Lord Daired, Master Dougal has a request to make before we leave.”

  Dougal stepped forward. He touched his forehead and made a series of complicated gestures that seemed to imitate something spinning. “He says he’d like to visit the forge-wight,” Carle translated. “He has many questions for her. They’re having trouble with the wheel at his mill again.”

  “That’s a question for the steward,” Alastair said. “Madam Mòrag?”

  “Eh?” she said.

  Carle repeated Dougal’s question.

  “Fyri? Oh. Aye, of course. Excuse me, Magistrate. If you’d follow me.” Mòrag turned, and Brigsley-Baine, Carle, and the miller followed her in the direction of the portrait stair.

  “I suppose I’d better start back without them,” Polton said. “Bring up her precious wheelworks and that forge-wight will talk even Dougal’s ears off his head. And Carle’s going to want to know the history of everything, and . . .” He shuddered and pulled on his gloves. “Yes, I think I’d best be off. Lord Daired, thank you again. Lady Daired, it’s been a pleasure.”

  The question that’d been hanging at the back of my mind surfaced as his foot crossed the threshold. “Before you go, Magistrate Polton, may I ask you something?”

  “Of course,” he said, pausing on the stoop.

  “Why don’t you like Captain Rhys?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Why would you think that, my lady?”

  “No offense, sir, but neither of you are subtle about it.”

  “I suppose not.” He sighed. “Well, I won’t deny it. Owin Rhys loathes me, and the feeling is entirely mutual.”

  “But why?”

  “Because for three years I’ve been trying to dismantle the smuggling operation he and his regiment have been running out of my town, and now that Selwyn’s not here to protect him, I intend to finish the job.”

  “Rhys is a smuggler?” I said, but even as the words left my lips I wondered how I’d missed it. The charm, the nerves, the scars, the long-standing arrangement with Selwyn: it all made sense.

  “Of anything and everything. False dragonbacks, heartstones, Noordish alchemical wares, Garhadi ale. You name it and Rhys has smuggled it. For years I’ve done all in my power to stop his game, but he and Selwyn had a deal of some kind, and without Selwyn’s support I couldn’t touch him.” He smiled. It was a grim smile, neither vindictive nor angry, and just a tiny bit sad. “Of course, unless he is much stupider than I believe him to be, he’s already followed Selwyn’s example and fled. Ah, well. There’ll be more than enough to handle with the rest of his regiment.” Polton donned his cap and bowed. “I think you may want to check how many horses are in the stable before you retire for the night. Good evening.”

  A cold wind drove pellets of snow through the cracks at the bottom of the door, scattering hay across the floor, but inside it was warm, and dim, and full of the curious snuffling of a half-dozen horses. Light flickered below the stable door. I held my breath as the latch rose with a creak, and the door swung open just enough to allow a man inside. He wore a traveling pack and carried a shaded lantern. He hung the lantern on a peg and reached for the catch of the nearest stall door.

  I struck a light. The lamp in my hand blazed to life. “If you’re looking for speed, I’d go with the one on your left,” I said. “That mare’s a bit jumpy.”

  Rhys froze.

  “Why did you wait so long to run, Captain?” Alastair asked. “You don’t have much daylight left.”

  “I . . . what do you mean, run? I was just—”

  “Don’t bother. Polton told us.”

  For a moment it looked as though Rhys would continue the charade, but something—perhaps Alastair’s hand on his knife—broke his resolve. With a sigh he let his pack fall to the ground. “Meddlesome old bastard.”

  “Conscientious civil servant,
” I said.

  “You’d be surprised how often those lines cross, my lady.”

  The wind howled outside, sending more snow sifting through the cracks around the door. “Poor weather for riding,” Alastair said.

  “I’m an excellent horseman, Lord Daired, and I know these mountains well. Look, what do you want from me? If you think you’re going to hand me over—”

  “We’re not going to hand you over to Polton,” Alastair said.

  The captain blinked. “You’re not?”

  “Call it a small mercy to a fellow warrior. But we do need something before you leave.”

  Rhys’s relief was palpable. “Anything.”

  “That day we found the dead mermaid. Do you remember the man in the forest?”

  “The one dressed as a Ranger? Aye, I remember.”

  “You recognized him. Where had you seen him before?”

  “A Ranger that looked like that man in the woods came through Morianton a few weeks ago. Just before you arrived, actually. We get the odd Ranger now and again looking to join a regiment, but this one never approached me. I only saw him once or twice. Tell you the truth, I’d forgotten about him until we saw him on the beach.”

  “You’re sure?” Alastair said.

  “If it wasn’t him, then they looked a damn sight alike.”

  Alastair turned away.

  “Captain, this is going to sound mad,” I said, “but this man . . . was he alive?”

  Rhys stared at me. “Of course he was alive. What makes you ask such a thing?”

  “And he was human?”

  “Well, given that I couldn’t spot a selkie at close range I wouldn’t give my discernment on the matter a glowing recommendation, but yes, I believe so. Certainly flesh and blood.”

  Human. And alive. My mind raced. Impossible.

  “Just out of curiosity, what’s this man to you?” Rhys asked.

  Quite suddenly I wished I had another lantern. I wished I had a dozen lanterns, and a bonfire, and the full light of day to keep this terror at bay. “No man, Captain Rhys. A ghastradi.”

  “A what?”

  “You should go,” Alastair said, “before the storm gets worse. We won’t follow you.”

  “Something I appreciate, but what do you mean, a ghastradi? A real one? Is my regiment in any danger?”

  “They’re not your regiment anymore.”

  “Well . . . yes, I suppose. But look, I can’t just—”

  “Go.”

  Rhys hesitated, one last protest still visible on his lips, but he reeled it in and picked up his traveling pack. “As you say, my lord.”

  I moved to Alastair’s side as Rhys saddled the gelding, the speed with which he did it suggesting he’d had a good deal of practice sneaking out of stables at dusk.

  “Alastair, how could it be him?” I whispered.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then Wydrick killed the mermaid? And the other Idar? The actual Wydrick?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But—”

  “Aliza, I said I don’t know.”

  Rhys led the gelding into the aisle. “I may not understand everything that’s going on here, but I’m no fool. You let me go; that’s worth more than a few questions about some Ranger in the woods.”

  “You have nothing else we need, Rhys,” Alastair said.

  “Begging your pardon, my lord, but that’s not quite true. A man in my trade hears things. All sorts of things, from all parts of the world, and there’s been a rumor of particular interest to some of my Vesh friends drifting around of late. A rumor involving two very rare, very precious heartstones.”

  Alastair and I looked up.

  “I’m telling you this because despite my best efforts over the past few days I’ve grown to admire the two of you,” Rhys said. “You’re persistent if nothing else, and I think you deserve a warning. They say certain interested parties are willing to pay several thousand dragonbacks to whoever acquires the Daired heartstones.”

  “What interested parties?” My heart pounded as I thought of the inn, of Rookwood, of the feeling of my knife hitting bone. “Captain Rhys, who wants them?”

  “I don’t know, my lady. I’m a smuggler; I only pass things on. But by Midwinter I wager there won’t be a heart-hound in Arle who isn’t desperate to get ahold of your heartstones, and when the Vesh get desperate, unpleasant things tend to happen.” He glanced at Alastair’s empty scabbard. “If I were you, I wouldn’t wait much longer to get a good sword.”

  “I don’t plan to.”

  Rhys unbarred the stable door and swung into the saddle with a smart salute. “In that case, all I can do is wish you safe travels.” He ducked to avoid the lintel as the gelding trotted outside. “Oh, and say goodbye to your dragon for me, will you, Lord Daired? I rather liked—”

  The wind tore his last words away and swallowed the sound of hoofbeats as he rode off into the gathering storm.

  Chapter 27

  The Ranger

  We didn’t stay in Castle Selwyn another night. Alastair and I agreed; with the Selwyns gone and the colloquy over, sleeping in an empty castle felt wrong. Mòrag was surprised at our decision but didn’t try to stop us. She did insist, however, on paying Alastair’s bond-price despite his protests that he’d not yet fulfilled his contract. “But you will, my lord, and saving your reverence, I’d rather not have to think of it again,” she told him, and then of course he could not refuse. After counting out the promised dragonbacks from the cache in Selwyn’s study, she saw us to the front gate, keeping pace on her makeshift crutches with a dignified wobble. When we told her about Rhys, she only shrugged. “If that man was chief of the smugglers in Morianton, I can understand why Polton wanted to arrest him. The trade has brought grief and corruption enough to that town, and Rhys walked too long on the edge of a precipice. He has only himself to blame for a fall. You’re going to Morianton, then?”

  Alastair nodded.

  “There’s decent lodging at the Wheel and Trident. How long will you stay?”

  “Until we’re certain this creature killing Idar cannot kill again,” Alastair said. “Captain Rhys said there were sightings of the ghastradi in town.”

  “Then Mikla watch over you both. And since I doubt we’ll ever see each other again, I suppose now would be the time to say it,” she said. “You, ah, did right by Lady Cordelia. You—well, yes. Thank you for that.”

  Alastair touched his forehead and swung up onto Akarra’s shoulders. “Tey iskaros.”

  I stayed on the ground. “Thank you, Mòrag.” And then, because she was a bitter, foolish old woman who had walked through darkness I couldn’t fathom and still had compassion enough to pull me out of my own, I embraced her. She stiffened but did not pull away. “You were right,” I whispered.

  “About what?”

  “You do live.”

  “Oh. Yes. Yes, you do. Now, off with you,” she said as I released her, brushing from her cheeks what for the sake of her pride I decided were melted snowflakes. “You’d best get there before the storm gets any worse.”

  I managed one last look over my shoulder as Akarra banked east around the curve of the castle walls. Mòrag stood in the gateway. She touched her forehead, then her heart, nodded once, and went inside.

  It was less than ten minutes’ flight to Morianton, but my cheeks were nearly frozen solid by the time we landed. The snow thickened as the sun set, stinging our faces like wasps. Even buried in our cloaks with heads bent close to Akarra’s back to block out the wind, the cold slipped through, jabbing icy needles through bearskin and leather hauberk. Akarra spat tongues of dragonfire into the air as she flew. It warmed us a little but nothing like enough. Alastair started shivering the moment we left the castle, and he didn’t stop until we were safe within the smoke-stained walls of the Wheel and Trident.

  The innkeeper recognized him at once. “Ah, Master Daired! Didn’t expect you again so soon.”

  “A room,” Alastair said and t
ossed him a silver half-dragonback. “And for gods’ sakes, something hot to drink.”

  After the grandeur of Castle Selwyn, the tiny, earthy room the innkeeper showed us to should have felt cramped, but it was hard to notice anything beyond the fire blazing in the grate. We shed our riding gear and sat for twenty minutes on the hearthrug until our limbs and faces had thawed enough to speak in full sentences.

  “I want to visit the local smithy first thing in the morning,” he said. “I need to see if they have any swords for sale.”

  “We should have asked Fyri before we left.”

  “That would take too long. I don’t want to go another day with an empty scabbard.”

  I thought of his beautiful Orordrin-wrought blade now sunk in the depths of Lake Meera. “Maybe Akarra can ask the merfolk to bring back your sword.”

  He didn’t smile. “These merfolk aren’t that friendly, and that would take more time than we can afford.”

  No teasing tonight, then. “Alastair, how do you kill a ghast?”

  He stared into the flames. “I wish I knew.”

  A knock at the door announced the innkeeper, who told us dinner was ready in the common room. After a last longing look at our cloaks still drying by the fire, we headed downstairs. It wasn’t crowded. Half a dozen patrons huddled around a game of quartermarks in the middle of the room. A few others nursed drinks in quiet corners. Most seemed to have already met Alastair on his previous visits to Morianton, so save for the occasional nod from a newcomer, we ate our meal in peace. Wind howled outside and snow pelted the windows, a steady background din as unsettling as it was persistent.

  “We’re not planning to fly in this weather, are we?” I asked.

  “Not if we can help it.”

  “Does Akarra mind?”

  This time he did smile. “She was hatched in a nest of ice on the frozen peaks of Dragonsmoor. She loves the cold.” The maid stopped at our table to clear away our dishes. “Miss?” he said and offered her another coin. “For the meal.”

  “’Salready been taken care of, Lordship.”