The Drinnglennin Chronicles Omnibus

by K. C. Julius

  D’Avencote drew himself up in umbrage. “The lady in question is no common wench! Keep a civil tongue in your mouth, even if you’ve a sewer in your head.”

  “Ho, ho!” Nargoret cried, appearing not in the least offended. “The sly dog’s grown wolf’s teeth!”

  “Leave it alone, Nargoret,” Borne said mildly. He turned his gaze on D’Avencote, who grew even redder. “Perhaps you weren’t aware that it’s against the rules to bring women into the barracks?”

  “It won’t happen again, ser,” D’Avencote said stiffly.

  “Then no harm done.” Borne lifted the empty jug on the table and waggled it. “Whose turn is it to go for the refill?”

  The men looked between themselves, and Borne swung himself off the bench with a resigned laugh. “It must be mine.”

  He was halfway down the ladder to the storeroom when D’Avencote appeared at the trapdoor above him.

  “I can manage,” Borne called up, but as he watched the brown ale flow into the jug, he heard his aide descending.

  “I just wanted to assure you, ser—I wasn’t… entertaining the lady in my room.”

  Borne turned off the spigot, then faced his aide. “As I said before—it makes no matter. There’s no need to speak of it again.” Something in D’Avencote’s expression made him add, “Unless there’s something more I need to know about this?”

  “She’s from Drinnglennin, ser.”

  “From Drinnglennin? Drinnkastel hasn’t had emissaries in Tell-Uyuk for years. How did she get here?”

  “She didn’t say, ser, but I was given the impression that she is newly arrived. Her Gralian is not perfect.”

  “Does the lady have a name?”

  D’Avencote spread his hands with a slight shrug. “She declined to give it, ser. She seemed to be in rather a hurry.”

  “Well then,” said Borne, with as much patience as he could muster, “what did she say?”

  D’Avencote’s color grew even higher. “She—she inquired about you, ser.”

  “Did she now? And what did she wish to know?”

  The Gralian kept his eyes on the casks on the wall. “I hope you know I would never indulge in idle gossip about you, ser.”

  Borne made himself count to ten in the silence that ensued. “But?”

  “She had only one question, ser.”

  “Which was?”

  “The lady wanted to know if the Gralian herald’s affections were engaged, ser.”

  Borne laughed. “I hope you told her it was none of her business.”

  “I was the soul of discretion, ser,” D’Avencote declared, but he still didn’t meet his commander’s eyes.

  It occurred to Borne then to wonder if some rumor about Yasiha and him was already making the rounds. Although the exchange with the Basilea had taken place in private, he’d been in Tell-Uyuk long enough to know that gossip was the court’s most traded coin.

  “D’Avencote. What did you tell her?”

  “No… nothing, ser! That is—” His gaze had slid to Borne’s boots. “I told her they were not.”

  Borne released a slow breath. As curious as the woman’s visit was, there didn’t seem to be any harm in her carrying this knowledge away with her. “Very well,” he said curtly, “but in future, you will direct any queries regarding my personal affairs to me.”

  He sent D’Avencote back with the jug, then returned to his room, a worrying thought nibbling around the corners of his mind. If word should reach Kurash that Borne was considering asking Yasiha to be his wife before he’d actually done so, the hazar might try to beat him to it. Borne could not afford to delay making up his mind about Empress Shareen’s proposal.

  * * *

  The next morning, Borne called on Yasiha. He found her seated in a floral bower in the palace gardens, looking as lovely as the blossoms surrounding her. Her silken black hair was unbound, as befitted a young maiden at leisure, and the pale coral robe she wore was of some soft gauzy material that showed to advantage her slender but womanly curves.

  She turned at the sound of Borne’s footsteps, and her dark eyes lit up with pleasure.

  “Ser Borne! I’m delighted you’ve chosen today to come calling. My roses are at the peak of their perfection. Come, I’ll show you!” She extended her hand so naturally that Borne found himself taking it before he had time to consider the propriety of doing so. It took him a moment longer to realize she’d addressed him in Drinn.

  “I had no idea you spoke my mother tongue.”

  She blushed prettily. “I wanted to wait and surprise you once Melisa said I was ready.”

  “It’s a very nice surprise. Who is Melisa, if I may ask?”

  Yasiha’s smile faded. “Oh, merciful gods! She doesn’t like me to mention her to anyone. I don’t see why; you’re sure to meet her soon anyway. Melisa was brought into the seraglio as my Drinn tutor, and we’ve become great friends. In fact, I’ve taken her on as my chaperone as well.” She looked around with a little uncertain laugh. “I’m not sure where she’s gotten to just now. She strictly guards her privacy—she even wears a veil!”

  Borne immediately recalled the woman he’d passed in the barracks. If Melisa was one of the Basileus’s household, it would explain her reluctance to tell D’Avencote her name. Among His Imperial Majesty’s many courtesans, there were rumored to be several Drinnglennians. According to Mir, whose mother was herself from the Isle, these women came to Olquaria of their own free will, drawn by the life of luxury they could expect to live in the Imperial Palace.

  Could the Basilea have sent this Drinnglennian woman to ferret out information about his personal attachments from his aide-de-camp? It was not implausible. In any case, whoever the mysterious Melisa was, she wouldn’t last long as Yasiha’s chaperone if she continued to abandon her post.

  Yasiha smiled up at him. “I don’t suppose my Drinn will ever be as good as my Gralian, but Melisa says I am an apt pu… pupil.” She flushed. “This is correct?”

  “It is indeed. Now,” Borne said, offering her his arm, “you were going to show me your roses?”

  * * *

  Over the next days, Borne spent as much time as he could spare from his responsibilities in Yasiha’s company. Borne made certain to observe the greatest decorum in her company—they were both aware their evening pairing had not gone unremarked by their fellow diners—but after the evening meal, they had taken to slipping away from the speculative scrutiny of the court and walking in the palace gardens. Only the princess’s elusive chaperone came with them, always trailing at a discreet distance. Yasiha begged him not to pay attention to the woman, who had still not been formally introduced to him.

  From the way Yasiha brushed her fingers gently across the back of his hand, or leaned in close to comment on a blossom, Borne knew the lady’s affection for him was growing. He responded with a respectful courtesy, for he had no intention of deceiving the princess by feigning something he did not feel. She was certainly attractive, and in time he hoped this physical allure would grow into something deeper, but until then, he could only offer what was his to give.

  He was aware that Empress Shareen’s proposed arrangement of his life seemed to be taking its course. The Basileus would soon return from his sojourn in the south, and when he did, Borne had decided that he would take the first opportunity presented to make a formal request for the princess’s hand. Perhaps, Zlatan could announce their engagement at the upcoming yaraket.

  Workmen had been toiling around the clock to construct a veritable city of obstacles in the Censibas for the annual event, and Borne’s men, like all of Tell-Uyuk, spoke of little else. Running, climbing, and leaping had been incorporated into their training sessions in preparation for entering a Gralian team in the contest. The foreigners had little chance of winning in a matchup with the local eniyara, but the prospect of the trials was already pro
ving good for morale, and their participation was likely to further improve his men’s standing and relations with the Olquarians.

  Borne, too, was eagerly anticipating the event. He was up and out to the training grounds before dawn, often after only a few hours’ sleep; his new rank at court placed significant demands on his evenings as well. Nonetheless, he relished the long hours; indeed, he believed he was happier than he had been since he’d left Drinnkastel.

  Balfou seemed to think so as well. “Tell-Uyuk agrees with you, my friend! And it’s clear you’ve found favor with the imperial family.” He raised one eyebrow, as if inviting a confidence.

  Borne chose to ignore the offer. “I shall have to write Latour and thank him. It was his impressive meddling that led to my becoming Crenel’s herald in the first place.”

  A crease furrowed Balfou’s normally smooth brow. “I’ve had concerning news from Gral. The Helgrins have captured two more of our port towns. Most of the inhabitants of An-en-Flo had enough warning to flee to L’Asedies, but the additional mouths to feed are placing a heavy burden on the city, and an outbreak of the blue death is feared. As for Ile-sur-Ble, the Helgrin barbarians took any who survived the ravaging as slaves, then put the town to the torch. It’s said that the only living things left there are the gros-negraen. Whole flocks of the great birds are said to have descended on the land to feed on the corpses.”

  This was concerning news indeed. “What’s to be done about these attacks? Is Latour marching north?”

  Balfou shrugged. “Truly—I don’t know. King Crenel has made yet another appeal to King Roth for support. His Majesty sent Comte Walerin himself to implore the Isle to send troops, but the Nelvor offers a daily excuse as to why he cannot yet meet with our commander.” Balfou frowned down at his perfectly manicured hands. “It’s a terrible insult for Comte Walerin. He’s a proud man, and I’m certain only Gral’s great need prevents his lordship from taking ship immediately back home.”

  His grim expression lightened as he looked past Borne. “Ah. Your lady Yasiha has just emerged from a litter by the gates.”

  Borne followed his gaze, not failing to note Balfou’s description of Yasiha as “his.” The princess waved gaily to him, then turned to the veiled chaperone at her side. It appeared the women were engaged in a disagreement. Yasiha had her hand on the arm of her companion, who seemed bent on re-entering the palanquin.

  “There’s nothing to fear, Melisa,” Yasiha insisted as Borne and Balfou approached. “Ser Borne doesn’t bite. Do you?” She turned her dazzling smile on him. “Ser Borne, may I, at last, present my Drinn tutor and friend, Melisa. She’s a countrywoman of yours, as you know.”

  Borne took the hand that was silently offered, but it was withdrawn so quickly, it bordered on insult. Borne assumed the woman, who kept her gaze bent on the ground, had recognized him from the barracks, and feared he’d question her about her visit there in front of her mistress.

  “What brings you to Tell-Uyuk, Melisa?” he asked pleasantly.

  They all waited expectantly for the woman’s response. Instead, she gave a kind of low croak, then climbed back into the litter, pulling the curtain firmly closed after her.

  Yasiha blushed. “Melisa? I’m so sorry, sers! I can’t imagine what’s gotten into her. Unless… is she already of your acquaintance?”

  Unwittingly, Yasiha had offered Borne an opportunity to reassure the concealed woman without giving her away. “I have no idea who the lady is,” he replied truthfully, “but I respect her right to keep her identity to herself. There’s no need for apology.”

  “You hear, Melisa? Please, won’t you come out?”

  Slowly, the curtains parted and the veiled woman stepped down, offering a glimpse of slender ankles. Borne had already noted that her hands were young and unblemished. She was quite petite, with an appealing figure, and held herself in such a way as to suggest a refined upbringing.

  Yasiha, clearly relieved, smiled up at Borne. “Shall we walk a bit, ser?”

  Melisa, after a moment’s hesitation, accepted Balfou’s proffered arm, and the two couples wandered through the stands of the Censibas, surveying the elaborate obstacles that the workmen were constructing. At one point, Borne looked back to see Balfou’s head bent toward his companion’s. If anyone could succeed in calming a nervous woman, it would be the comte.

  After they’d returned the ladies to their palanquin, Borne asked Balfou what he’d learned about the mysterious lady.

  “Her Gralian is quite good, and it’s clear she’s well-bred. In point of fact, we spoke of you.” The comte’s expression held a hint of mischief. “It seems the lady is keen to know your intentions with regard to Khadin Yasiha.”

  Borne frowned. “I suspected she was an informer. The question is: for whom?”

  “On the contrary,” Balfou assured him, “I believe Mistress Melisa inquired out of genuine concern for the princess.” He gave Borne a sidelong look. “I’m curious as well. What are your intentions regarding the Basilea’s niece?”

  Borne ran a hand through his hair. “I suppose you, at least, have every right to ask me that question. I promise you that when it is appropriate to answer, you shall be the first I tell.”

  Balfou inclined his head graciously. “It would be quite a coup should a janabi marry into the closest circle of the imperial family. His Majesty King Crenel would view it to his advantage to have a loyal man so highly placed.” Borne’s failure to comment emboldened Balfou to add, “Of course, our king would be obliged to release you from his service as a herald of Gral, but we would hope you would still consider us special and privileged friends. The goddess knows we’re in need of friends, now more than ever. If there’s any way to tilt the Basileus away from his leanings toward King Jorgev of Albrenia and toward Gral instead, we must seize upon it. I fear if King Crenel doesn’t manage to enlist outside support from somewhere, the Helgrins will soon stand before the golden gates of Lugeneux. And you can be sure that should this occur, Albrenia will swarm up from the south to claim her slice of the Gralian pie.”

  “Are His Imperial Majesty and King Jorgev still exchanging letters?”

  Balfou gave his signature shrug. “At least not since the Basileus has been away. But you would know better than I, my friend. My star is setting.”

  “You exaggerate,” Borne said, although he’d been surprised when the comte had been excluded from the Basileus’s last hunting party. He made a mental note to ask Yasiha if she could arrange for Balfou to sit in the royal box for the upcoming yaraket, knowing how the Gralian ambassador thrived on such a mark of preferment.

  Borne himself would be on the field with his men. And when the competition ended, he would secure his future in Olquaria.

  Chapter 22

  Halla

  Flying west astride Emlyn’s back, Halla’s spirits soared. She was not overly concerned about her upcoming trial, having experienced at least part of Maura’s and Leif’s first-hand. Although their freefalls had been terrifying at the time, they had survived to become dragonfast, and she assumed it would be no different for her. Even the bitter cold of the wind rushing past couldn’t diminish the warmth spreading through her, now that she and her baby were free of Lazdac and his horrible drakdaemons. Bria’s death still tormented her, but she took comfort in knowing she would survive and find a way to avenge her friend’s death. At last she was in control of her destiny once more, and she would serve Urlion’s heir as the dragonfast warrior she’d always dreamed of being. She’d told Emlyn of her binding oath, and the dragon had deemed it an honor to help uphold this vow.

  From high in the clouds, she caught an occasional glimpse of the dark, churning water far below, and she wondered how far they would need to travel to reach their destination. The stormy waters of the Vast Sea were uncharted, for no one who sailed out over them ever returned. In Mithralyn, she’d learned that a mystical land lay far to the west,
and that the dwarves were the last of the magical folk from Drinnglennin to take ship there.

  I’d like to meet a dwarf, she thought, but not if it means crossing the wide ocean never to return.

  At some point she must have drifted off, for she jerked awake in the inky dark of night to find they had dropped under the clouds. Ahead lay a lone island surrounded by glittering, luminescent waters. Emlyn came to rest on a pebbled beach caressed by the ruffled surf. To the east, a purpling line of clouds hovered on the horizon. Westward lay a dark line of trees.

  Stiff with cold, Halla slid from the dragon’s back. “Could we build a fire?”

  “No. Your trial begins at once,” Emlyn announced, “and while its outcome is in your hands, I must warn you that time is not on your side.” Without another word, she swung away into the shadows of the trees.

  Halla frowned after the dragoness. But she recalled the advice Master Morgan had given Maura and Leif: You must trust in your dragons, to your peril. Straightening her shoulders, she trudged up the beach after Emlyn.

  She found a path into the woods, but as soon as she stepped onto it, she was blinded by a flash of light. Squinting into the glare, she saw that the trees had vanished, and a wooden bridge spanned a green lake that had taken the forest’s place. The water was so clear and still, it echoed the trees and sky. On the far side of the bridge, a slender stone arch rose, its reflection on the lake completing a perfect circle, and beyond the arch were the ruins of a castle constructed of tall, narrow pillars perched on a rocky isle.

  Something about the quality of the silence was unnerving, and Halla gave a little whistle to make sure she hadn’t been struck deaf.

  She stepped cautiously onto the bridge, and it swayed under her feet. The silence pressed down on her, muffling her footfalls and even the sound of her breath. To calm her disquiet, she tried to remember everything Maura and Leif had said about their final trial, but all that came to mind was Leif’s saying they’d nearly been burned alive.