The Fire Dragon

by Katharine Kerr

  “I'll be glad to take that duty upon myself.” Rhodry suddenly smiled, and Verrarc had never seen anyone smile so brightly and yet look so cold. “To spare one of your townsfolk the danger, like.”

  “Rori!” Dallandra stepped forward. “And what are you planning?”

  “To do the council's bidding and naught more.” Rhodry's smile turned innocent.

  “Will you swear that to me?” Dallandra set her hands on her hips and glared at him.

  “I will, on my silver dagger.”

  “Oh very well, then, if the council wants to take your offer, I shan't stand in your way. But you need to warn Arzosah off, too. She's someone else who needs to hear the customs of this country.”

  “We discussed it last night. She knows she's not to eat any Horsekin or their mounts.” Rhodry turned to Verrarc. “Shall I be a herald or no?”

  “I'll take your offer and gladly,” Verrarc said. “There were a great trouble on my heart, thinking of who might be willing to go to that camp.”

  Rhodry started to answer, but suddenly Verrarc heard a sound like thunder, rising behind him. He spun around and saw the black dragon, flying from her perch. With a few wing strokes she gained height, turned, and flew steadily off to the east.

  “Good,” Rhodry said. “She remembered what I told her. I thought it might ease your citizens' hearts, Councilman, not to have her so close to the Deciding.”

  “My thanks.” Verrarc watched the dark shape dwindling and shuddered. “I think me it be for the best.”

  In Cerr Cawnen a crier wore long strips of white linen tied round his head and fluttering behind him; he carried a staff bound with more of the same. Since the other men carried no weapons, Rhodry left his sword with Dallandra, but he kept the silver dagger at his belt. Admi repeated the ritual words several times over for Rhodry's sake.

  “And do you remember,” Admi finished up, “that the town gates will be shut, lest some traveller disturb the proceedings. The witnesses must call up to the guards and state their errand within.”

  The five criers rode the council's big barge across the lake. By the time they reached the farther shore, dark clouds filled the sky, and the windless day had turned hot and muggy. Rhodry was glad of the chance to get away from the steaming, stinking lake to the clean air of the water meadows beyond the gates.

  The Horsekin had set up their peaked tents in a rough circle around a big fire pit. As Rhodry approached, he could see their horses grazing at tether beyond the camp. The camp itself seemed deserted at first, but when he called out a hail, one of the tent flaps opened and Rakzan Kral himself came out, wearing his gold surcoat and carrying his whip. He smiled with a show of fang, yet Rhodry could tell that he meant to be pleasant. Rhodry bowed to him.

  “A good morrow to you,” Rhodry said. “I understand that you're a plaintiff at Cerr Cawnen's gates?”

  “I am, truly,” Kral said. “The priestess did tell me that a herald would come unto us.”

  Rhodry glanced around, but he saw only a pair of human slaves, standing between two tents and watching silently.

  “I am enjoined by the Council of Five to invite your witness to the Deciding this day. The public square on Citadel is open to all who would come.”

  “Good,” Kral said, nodding. “I'll just be gathering a few of my men—”

  “Wait! It also is my duty to tell you that on the day of a deciding all strife is forbidden. No man or woman either may carry weapons to the council square. Any who raises his hand against a citizen or a fellow plaintiff will be subject to the laws of the town.”

  “Very well. I pledge that me and mine will abide by this prohibition.”

  “Well and good, then. When you come to the town, you will find the gates shut. Call up to the guards, and they will admit you and an escort of two.”

  “I'll do so.”

  “So be it.” Rhodry thumped the ground with the end of his staff. “Be you welcome at your leisure.”

  As he turned to go, Rhodry saw Raena, peering out of one of the tents. She held the tent-flap just open enough to look out while remaining mostly hidden behind the canvas.

  “And will you come to witness,” Rhodry said, “priestess?”

  Raena went dead-still, staring at him. Rhodry laughed, his high berserker's chortle.

  “I'll wager you don't have the guts.” He bowed to her in the best courtly manner he could muster, being as he was holding a staff. “Not after our meeting upon the battle plain.”

  “Curse you!” Raena flung the canvas aside and stepped out. “Kral! Kill this man! I command you!”

  “What?” In two long strides Kral joined them. “I grovel before the holy one, but I'll not be killing a herald and an unarmed man. How, think you, would that please the good folk of the town?”

  Raena stamped her foot and glared at him. She was wearing a long buckskin dress, painted with blue designs, and her long black hair was piled up on her head and bound with gold bands. The finery, however, seemed to leave Kral unimpressed. He shrugged and turned to Rhodry.

  “Good herald, I do suggest that you return to your town.”

  “My thanks, Rakzan, and I shall.”

  As he strode off, Rhodry was grinning. Now he had only to wait and see if Raena took his challenge.

  All day the dark clouds hung over Citadel. In the heat tempers ran short, especially among the militiamen, who dripped sweat inside their leather armor. Verrarc walked back and forth, speaking as calmly as he could and settling squabbles. He'd never seen the citizenry so edgy, either. With such an important decision at stake, every adult in town turned out to line up and wait on the only path up to the square. Here and there some impatient soul would try to force himself a few paces ahead of where he should be, or some woman would be carrying a baby that squalled and stank, and those standing near these nuisances would turn nasty.

  Burra and Frie spent most of the morning walking back and forth along the queue of townsfolk to keep order. A few at a time the citizens left the path and walked onto the public square, where Hennis handed out the three markers, then went singly into one of the booths. Mindful of the crowd, everyone moved briskly past the jugs. On their way out they dropped the unused stones into another pot. It took all of Verrarc's will to keep from peeking into the discards, just to get some vague idea of which way the vote would swing. By noontime, Verrarc estimated that half of those entitled to vote had finished.

  “I think me we'd best send out the criers again,” Admi said, “to ask the citizens still at home to stay there until this press thins.”

  “Just so,” Verrarc said. “It gladdens my heart to see so many folk come out.”

  Admi nodded and pulled a rag out of his pocket to mop the sweat from his face.

  “Rain would be welcome,” Verrarc went on. “Though I do hope it holds off till most have decided.”

  Admi said nothing. He was staring over Verrarc's shoulder with a peculiar expression on his face, half contempt, half fear. When Verrarc turned around, he saw Raena in a long Horsekin-style leather dress, her head bound in green cloth, walking briskly toward him with Rakzan Kral. Behind them came a Horsekin warrior, carrying a ceremonial staff. Kral himself carried naught but a table dagger at his belt.

  “The gall of the bitch,” Admi murmured.

  Verrarc wondered if he were about to disgrace himself and weep. Fortunately Kral turned and said a few words to Raena that made her stop walking. She and the guard waited a good distance away while Kral hurried over to Admi and Verrarc.

  “I mayn't command the priestess,” were the first words Kral spoke. “My apologies, Councilman Verrarc.”

  “No offense taken,” Verrarc said. “I never could control her either.”

  Verrarc turned on his heel and strode off to the other side of the booths. Raena never came near him, not for the entire long afternoon.

  Although the clouds grew darker, the rain held off throughout the Deciding. At various times one of the coun-cilmen or some of the militia would
slip off to eat, then return. Slowly the line of citizens crept up the hill. Eventually, when the sun was turning the clouds in the west a dull gold, Verrarc realized that the line had become a scatter of citizens, waiting on the plaza edge.

  “I do think the most of our folk have cast their markers,” Verrarc said. “Good. When the last be done, we'll be moving into the shelter of the Council House to count them, and the rain will be of no import.”

  Rhodry had spent the day guarding Carra and her child. Early on the princess had grown weary of the stark Council House and the plaza. For a while they visited with Jahdo's mother and her sister, Sirri, the town midwife, until the talk of babies in general and Elessario in particular made Rhodry wonder if men truly could die of boredom. Fortunately for him, both older women had work to attend to, and about midafternoon he escorted Carra back to the elven camp on the lakeshore. Vantalaber, the pale-haired captain of the archers, came hurrying to meet them.

  “I kept a watch on the gates,” Val said. “Raena and her swinish rakzan came through around noon.”

  “Did she now?” Rhodry laughed, a hard berserker howl that made Val wince. “I'm looking forward to tonight. Things may turn interesting.”

  While Carra and the child rested inside the royal tent, Rhodry sat outside the door with Lightning, Carra's dog, for a second guard. The dog slept and Rhodry drowsed, his hand on the hilt of his sword, but neither Raena nor Horsekin came near. Toward sunset Carra carried the baby outside and told him she'd decided to rejoin her husband up on the public square.

  “The citizens ought to be all done soon,” Carra said. “I want to see how the council members count the markers out.”

  “With tally marks, I suppose,” Rhodry said.

  “No doubt, but that's not what I meant.” Her pretty little face had gone thoughtful. “I wonder if they count big lots in twenties, as we do, or in twelves.”

  “Twelves? Who would do that?”

  “Farmers and suchlike do it all the time. I've always thought that they must have preserved the ancient customs of their ancestors, who were bondfolk, you see, or truly I mean, the people our ancestors turned into bondfolk. And now I've got a chance to find out. If Cerr Cawnen uses twelves, then I'll know that such was the original way of counting in this country.”

  Rhodry managed to smile, but he was wondering if she were a bit daft, to trouble herself over such things.

  They found a coracle, and he paddled them across the lake under a dark sky. Sylphs emerged from the water, pale blue and green, stretching out slender hands as they crowded around the boat. At the sight Elessi gurgled and flapped her chubby hands in their direction.

  “Oh, now, what is it?” Carra said. “There's naught there.”

  Elessi ignored her and made the little panting sound of a baby just learning to laugh. One bold sylph leaned into the boat and touched a wisp of her golden hair. A drop of water ran down her chubby forehead.

  “Ah!” Carra said. “It must be starting to rain. A drop fell on Elessi.”

  Rhodry smiled and said nothing. In a few moments the sylphs dove back into the lake and disappeared, melding again with the water. Just as they reached the island, however, a few drops of real rain spattered on Citadel's narrow shore.

  “We'd best hurry,” Rhodry said. “The storm's going to break, I'll wager.”

  The rain held off for a while more. Rhodry carried the baby as they climbed the steep path to the plaza, and Lightning trotted ahead, tail held high and wagging. When they reached the top, Kiel, still in his militia armor, hurried over to meet them. Only a few townsfolk still waited near the booths. At the public well, Daralanteriel, Dallandra, and Zatcheka stood talking together.

  “Rori,” Kiel said. “I'll have to ask you for that sword.” “Right you are.” Rhodry handed the baby back to Carra. “My apologies. I'm as used to its weight as most men are to their brigga, I suppose.” He unbuckled his belt, slid the scabbard off, and handed it to Kiel. “Take good care of that, will you?”

  “I'll give it to Dallandra to carry for you.” Carra had kept walking, heading for her husband, but when Rhodry called to her, she waited for him to catch up. The militiamen had gathered round the booths, ready to take the jugs inside and dismantle the shelter. Four council members stood in a little huddle near the table and talked, but Verrarc had gone elsewhere. Rhodry could see the glow of a fire or perhaps lanterns through the windows of the Council House. All at once Carra yelped and pointed. At her side her wolfish dog growled and bared teeth.

  About halfway between the well and the Council House stood Rakzan Kral, a Horsekin guard, and Raena, tricked out in Horsekin finery. Although she wore no kirtle round her buckskin dress, Rhodry noticed her green head wrap, so bulky and heavy-seeming that it might well hide more than hair.

  “Carra,” Rhodry whispered. “Be brave. I think we can catch ourselves a raven if you don't mind pretending to be a little bird on her nest.”

  “What? I—oh wait! I do see what you mean.” Carra shifted Elessario's weight in her arms and held the child upright. Elessi obliged by grabbing a strand of her mother's hair in one hand and leaning over Carra's shoulder. Rhodry walked a little behind her as she strolled slowly over to the well. He could see Raena, walking a few steps toward Carra, then stopping, watching her from a distance—too far for Rhodry to see her expression, elven sight or no. Rakzan Kral laid a hand on Raena's arm and leaned close to speak to her. Rhodry let Carra get several paces ahead of him. Raena shook Kral's hand off, but she stood where she was.

  Someone came out of the Council House and hurried over to the group by the well—Niffa, Rhodry realized, and she was carrying a wooden cup in one hand, as if she were going to fetch someone water. She saw Carra and waved.

  “Carra!” Niffa called out. “I did wonder when you'd be back.”

  Smiling, Carra hurried over to join her friend. Rhodry kept pace at his distance. He saw Raena reach up to her headdress; he went on guard. Sure enough, she pulled something free—or did she? When she lowered her hand it seemed empty, but then, her dress had long sleeves. Did she know that he was watching her? Rhodry wondered. Carra joined her husband, and Raena turned, gesturing to Kral to follow, and walked away from the group round the well.

  The rain began, splattering on the stone paving of the square. Distantly lightning flickered, and thunder rolled in the western sky. The councilmen began rushing back and forth, yelling orders at the militiamen, grabbing the jugs full of markers. Dar called to his men and trotted over to help; Zatcheka sent her guards, then hurried toward the Council House and shelter. Another roll of thunder, nearer this time, and the rain began in earnest. Rhodry saw Niffa and Carra, with the baby in her arms, hurrying toward the Council House. He took off running and caught up with them just as Raena made her move.

  “Alshandra!” Raena howled out the name, then darted forward. A dagger flashed in her hand. “Take your daughter back!”

  Carra screamed and lurched to one side, only to slip on the wet cobbles and fall backwards with the child clasped in her arms. The baby began to howl. Raena leapt, the dagger held high, but the dog could leap faster and high enough. With a low growl Lightning sprang and grabbed her wrist in his jaws. Raena fell half on top of him and began to shriek. The dagger clattered onto the cobbles. Rhodry kicked it out of her reach and seized the dog's collar in both hands.

  “Lightning!” Carra yelled. “Down! Let her go!”

  The dog obeyed. Rhodry released him, then grabbed Raena's uninjured arm and hauled her up. Blood ran from her gashed wrist, but Lightning's fangs had closed from the side onto bone and missed the big blood vessels. She whimpered, holding up the injured wrist.

  “It be broken,” Raena whined. “Let me go, for the pain does vex me to the soul.”

  “Hold still!” Rhodry snapped. He shook her for good measure. “Or you'll bleed the worse.”

  Raena turned docile, sobbing and gasping for breath, but Rhodry twisted her good arm around behind her back and pinned her against hi
s chest. The militiamen rushed over, the councilmen pushed their way through, Dar fell onto his knees beside Carra. Everyone was talking at once.

  “I'm all right,” Carra said over and over. “So is Elessi.”

  Niffa stooped and picked up the dagger.

  “She did carry a weapon,” Niffa said. “She did wish to murder at the Deciding.”

  “So she did.” Admi took the dagger from her. “This be a grave and serious thing. Inside, everyone! We'll not be able to think in all this rain. Sergeant Gart! The urns! Get your men inside and guard the urns!”

  Dar helped Carra up, then took the sobbing Elessi and cradled her in his arms. In the milling confusion Rhodry looked around for Rakzan Kral and found him standing back by the Council House wall. He looked stunned, his mouth half-open, his hands spread wide as if in disbelief. Rhodry was just considering speaking to him when Raena suddenly went limp in his grasp, falling forward as if she were fainting. Without thinking he let go her arm lest he break it. She twisted away, shoved him off-balance, somehow kept her feet and ran.

  “Stop her!” Rhodry yelled.

  The crowd around began shouting. Rhodry took out after her, but in the driving rain the soles of his riding boots had gone slick as lard. He slipped on the cobbles, righted himself, and realized that he'd lost her. It seemed she'd melted away into the shadows and the gathering twilight.

  “Dalla!” Rhodry called out. “Is it dweomer?”

  “Of a sort.” Dallandra came running up. “But she can't disappear into Evandar's country without the help of her beastly fox-spirit. We've got a chance to find her.”

  Rhodry felt himself howling with laughter. The militia, the townsfolk, the councilmen—they all mobbed around. Admi yelled for silence and at last got it.

  “If she be a murderess, then our laws have somewhat to say to her,” Admi bellowed to the crowd. “My fellow citizens! Find her! Bring her here to justice!”

  The townsfolk cheered with spontaneous joy. Only then did Rhodry realize just how much they had hated Raena. Nearby Verrarc stood with his head bowed, praying to some god, perhaps, or perhaps simply staring at the stones in an utter exhaustion of will. When Rhodry strode over, Verrarc neither raised his head nor spoke.