The Last Dragonlord

by Joanne Bertin

  “I hate him,” she said again.

  Danaet raised her eyebrows. “While I admit Breslin is as personable as a stoat with the toothache, I would have thought that a bit extreme.”

  Maurynna shook her head impatiently. “Not Breslin; he’s just annoying.”

  “Then who—? Ah. Never mind. I think I can guess.” Danaet sighed. “I don’t know if his being a Dragonlord is any improvement over being a dockhand, you know that? Both ways he’s trouble. And if you don’t stop moping around here, you’ll drive my clerks mad. They never know when you’re going to pop up and snarl at them. You had Leela in tears yesterday.”

  Shocked and contrite, Maurynna stopped pacing. “I did? Oh, gods—I’m sorry, Danaet. I wasn’t angry at her—truly I wasn’t. It’s just—I’ll tell her I’m sorry.”

  “I sent her off to play messenger for me today. I wasn’t having her subjected to any more of your moods. Maurynna, I hate to say this, but will you please go somewhere else until you’re fit to speak to again?” Danaet pleaded.

  That stung, badly. Maurynna drew herself up. “I will. I apologize. I hadn’t meant to make anyone else miserable.” She spun around and walked out of the warehouse.

  The bright sunlight hurt her eyes. Where to go? Nothing appealed to her. Wandering the streets and byways and just looking at the varied peoples who came to Casna was usually one of her favorite things, but not this time. All she had to do at her aunt’s house was look out a window into the garden and she’d be in tears. And she was through crying for Linden.

  Her last haven lay before her. Maurynna watched the Sea Mist roll gently on the swells and felt sorry for herself.

  An instant later she came to a decision. She’d hide on board her ship, absolutely wallow in her misery and get it out of her blood once and for all. Feeling more cheerful in an upside-down sort of way, Maurynna trotted up the gangplank. Her crew saluted her warily. They looked relieved when she went straight to her cabin.

  She collapsed onto her bed. Guess I have been a raving bitch. The thought made her giggle and the giggle dissolved into tears. She buried her face in her pillow and cried.

  It was a long time before she finally felt at peace. She’d had a chance at her dream and it hadn’t quite worked out. So be it. She curled herself around her pillow and fell asleep, spent.

  Some time later a soft voice woke her. Maurynna thrashed on the bed, her eyes gritty, trying to identify who had called her, and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

  “Captain Erdon is it now? Haven’t we come up in the world. Still know your old friend Eel?”

  “Lord Sevrynel!”

  The Earl of Rockfall turned in the saddle at the sound of his name. He blinked in surprise when he saw who had hailed him; he and the elegant Baroness Anstella of Colrane moved in very different circles. “My lady?” he said doubtfully.

  But it seemed she had indeed been the one who had called him. For she guided her palfrey—a lovely animal, Sevrynel thought with pride; the mare had come from his stables—alongside his horse. She smiled at him.

  For a moment Sevrynel forgot to breathe.

  “My lord,” she said, “may I congratulate you? Lord Duriac was just telling me about your new brood mares. He said they were some of the finest animals he’d ever seen.”

  Sevrynel straightened his stooped shoulders with pride, too pleased at the compliment to wonder why in the world Lord Duriac would be discussing horses with Anstella of Colrane. “That they are,” he said, beaming. “Royal stock of the Mhari line, direct descendants of Queen Rani’s own mare.”

  Anstella gazed upon him with awe. “Truly? You are, of course, going to have one of your famous gatherings to celebrate their arrival, aren’t you?”

  “My lady, what a lovely thought! I believe I shall. It would welcome my royal ladies properly.”.

  “And all the more so if you invited the Dragonlords. I’m sure they would be most interested—especially Linden Rathan.” A hint of sadness overshadowed her beautiful face.

  Now why—Oh. Oh, dear. Sevrynel suddenly remembered something he’d heard about … . Oh, dear. Flustered, he said, “Um, do you really think—?”

  “Oh, yes. Why, according to the legends, he would have seen Queen Rani’s mare, wouldn’t he?”

  That decided Sevrynel. He simply had to have Linden Rathan’s opinion on his new beauties. And the Dragonlords had already attended one or two of his other little gatherings and had seemed to enjoy themselves—especially Linden Rathan when he’d been shown the stables.

  He’d do it. “Baroness, I thank you for such a lovely thought. I shall set it in motion immediately. And, my lady, will you and Prince Peridaen also honor me with your presences?”

  “My lord, we wouldn’t miss this for the world. When will it be?” Anstella asked with flattering eagerness.

  Sevrynel thought a moment. “Tomorrow,” he said. “It shall be tomorrow.”

  “Perfect,” Anstella said.

  Maurynna gaped at the figure standing in the doorway. “Eel? Is that really you?”

  A preposterous little man bounced into the cabin, resplendent in a wildly patched jerkin and tunic, the colors of which would have hurt Maurynna’s eyes if the patches hadn’t faded into decent drabness. Despite the heat, Eel, as always, wore a grimy cap. He swept it off, revealing a fringe of grey hair around a shining pate, and bowed as elegantly as any court dandy. “It is, indeed.”

  She sat on the edge of her bunk and laughed. “Where have you been? I expected you to show up long before this.”

  “I was in Balyaranna, working the big horse fair up there, but the pickings were lean. Everyone who can be is here in Casna to see the Dragonlords.” He cocked his head like a motley, bright-eyed robin. “So I came back. The Watch have better things to do these days than watch me. And the crowds here are simply lovely. Easy pickings, every last one, bless ’em.” He sat down at the table.

  Maurynna joined him. With one of the lightning movements she’d come to expect from the old thief, Eel reached into his bulging belt pouch and came up with two ripe peaches in one hand. An instant later a tiny knife appeared in the other; he began peeling the peaches.

  She watched him, chin resting on one hand. She was fond of the slippery little Cassorin thief; she’d once saved his neck for him. Probably the only time in his life he was innocent, she thought. Since then he’d done her many little favors. But she liked him most of all because he made her laugh.

  And gods knew that she could use that now. He cut the peaches into precise sections with the little razor-sharp blade he used for relieving unsuspecting victims of their belt pouches, and prattled about the country yokels who were now sadder and wiser—and poorer—thanks to him.

  By the time she’d finished her peach, Maurynna was laughing heartily at one of Eel’s many stories.

  “Whinnied like a horse, he did, when he realized his ring was gone. ‘Whe-e-e-e-ere’s my ring?’ he kept whining. ‘Whe-e-e-ere? Whe-e-e-ere?’ Annoying he was, so I—”

  Maurynna held up a hand; she’d caught the sound of boots crossing the deck.

  A voice called out, “Rynna?”

  “In here, Otter,” she answered.

  Eel half rose as if to flee; Maurynna motioned him back to his seat.

  Otter ducked through the doorway, blinking as his eyes adjusted. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

  She waved Otter to a chair. It seemed she was going to have a party whether she’d planned it or not. “No. Otter, this is Eel, a friend of mine. Eel, this is Bard Otter Heronson. He is,” she said, fixing Eel with a stern eye, “a very good friend as well as a bard.”

  Eel grinned and tapped his long, nimble fingers together before his face. “Understood, O Captain.” He jumped up for another of his elaborate bows. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Bard Otter, and desolate that I didn’t bring another peach to share—but alas! I didn’t know I’d have the honor of your company.”

  Otter, Maurynna thought, did very well at hiding his smile
. “The honor is mine, good sir. I merely came to deliver a message to Rynna.”

  She froze. There was only one person Otter would carry messages for—at least, she hoped so. If he bore a warning from Aunt Elenna that dinner would be late, or some other piddling news, she’d tie him to the anchor and go fishing for whales. She waited breathlessly for the bard’s next words.

  “I saw Linden today. He said that he would still like to go to the tisrahn with us. He feels it would dishonor Almered and his nephew not to, and might cause you to lose face with them.”

  All the old hurt came back in a rush, growling like a black dog in her ear. She snorted. “As if someone as high and mighty as he would care about that.” Yet mixed in with the hurt was a rushing excitement at the prospect of seeing Linden again.

  Eel’s gaze darted from one to the other of them.

  Otter pressed his lips together. “Rynna, don’t be stupid. It’s for your own safety that Linden has—”

  Eel interrupted, “Linden? Do you mean Dragonlord Linden Rathan?”

  “Yes,” said Maurynna. “Unfortunately. He and Otter are old friends.”

  Otter ignored her and said to Eel, “Maurynna knows him quite well, too. They met when she mistook him for a dockhand and ordered him to unload her ship.”

  Eel’s jaw dropped. Maurynna said, “I do not know him well. And it wasn’t quite like that, Otter.”

  “No? I believe your words were ‘Get your ass over here and earn your pay,’ weren’t they? He did a good job of it, I heard. Earned every copper you didn’t pay him.”

  Eel’s eyes threatened to pop from his head and roll about the floor like marbles. “You did? He did? You didn’t? Oh, my. Oh, my!” the little thief gasped and went off into peals of laughter.

  Maurynna divided a scowl between thief and bard. Would she never hear the end of that wretched mistake?

  At last Eel stopped laughing. He said, “The evening crowds to see the Dragonlords should be gathering soon. Must be there when they do. Fare thee well, beautiful captain and honored bard. I’ll wave to your Dragonlord for you, Rynna m’dear.” And with another flourish of his dilapidated cap, Eel was out the door.

  Otter, bless him, waited a decent interval before he burst out laughing. “What an odd little duck. And since he’s no Yerrin to bear a name like that, I’d love to know how he got it. Just what is he?”

  “A thief,” Maurynna answered. “And a very good one, too. That’s why I warned him off you. He won’t bother my family or friends. I did him a good turn once. Pointed out the real thief to the Watch when he’d been falsely accused of robbing someone’s belt pouch.”

  She pushed one of the peach pits around the gimballed table. “Linden will really go to the tisrahn?”

  “Yes. He made a commitment. He will honor it. Maurynna—he wants to go. And not because of the shadow puppets, either.”

  She didn’t believe that. Not at all. But that didn’t stop her fool heart from singing. Yet all she said was, “Give him my thanks. Not only would I have been shamed before Almered but also House Erdon.”

  “That’s all?” Otter asked as he stood up to leave.

  She wouldn’t look at him. She’d betray too much if she did. “That’s all.”

  Three days until she could see Linden again …

  Otter walked out, then stuck his head back in the cabin. “You’re not the only one hurting, Rynna. He misses you as well,” the bard said and was gone.

  Her breath caught at his words. It couldn’t be true—could it? But Otter wouldn’t lie to her; not about something so important. Hope blazed up in her heart.

  “Please,” she whispered. “Please let it be true.”

  Forty

  Another frustrating council. By the gods, why did Lleld have to be right about this, too, Linden thought as he rode home, recalling her warning that regency debates were boring.

  Deadly dull is what he’d call them. If he never had to sit in judgement again, the happier he’d be. Of course, it didn’t help that he begrudged every moment until he could see Maurynna again. If only the ceremony were tonight instead of the day after tomorrow.

  At least he was free for the rest of the day now. Of course, what would he do with himself now that he couldn’t see Maurynna? He heaved a sigh and saw his escort exchange sympathetic—and amused—glances.

  Hmm—this wouldn’t do. He remembered what gossips soldiers could be. He’d been one. Ah, well—they were nearly home and he could go sit by himself in the garden.

  But when they reached the house, Linden saw with annoyance that a servant in the brown-and-gold of the Colranes waited in the courtyard. Now what? he thought angrily as he dismounted.

  Though visibly nervous, the man approached and held out a note. “Dragonlord, I bear a message from the Lady Sherrine and am to wait for a reply.” He hastened to add, “If Your Grace wishes, of course,” when Linden scowled at him.

  Linden took the note with no good grace and held it in his hand, debating whether to read it now or later. Then he reflected that later meant this fellow would be hanging about half the day at least. Linden broke the seal and quickly read the contents.

  Just as he thought. Another apology from Sherrine and a plea for reconciliation. By Gifnu’s hells, didn’t he make himself plain enough that day? And did she really think that the wergild, lavish as it was, could erase what had happened?

  In a rare fit of ill temper, he crumpled the note and cast it aside. To the man, he said, “Tell your lady that the answer is ‘no.’ And tell her that it will not change. No, leave him.”

  The last was snapped at the groom who’d come to take the gelding.

  “My lord?” the woman said in surprise.

  “I’m going for a ride. Don’t bother gathering the escort, Jerrell. I’d rather be alone.”

  Wise man that he was, Jerrell forbore to protest. Linden swung back into the saddle and wheeled the gelding around. He dug his heels in; the horse snorted and jumped. As he exploded through the gate, Linden nearly collided with a rider in Rockfall’s blue-and-orange. But the gelding dodged nimbly and they were off.

  As he rode through Casna, Linden wondered where he might go. Then he remembered the stone circle and the peace he’d felt there. That decided him; gods knew he needed some of that right now. Once more he set off for the sea cliff road.

  Linden lay in the shade of the trilithon, chewing on a blade of grass. The gelding, bare of saddle and bridle and hobbled nearby, cropped the coarse grass that grew among the standing stones.

  He’d been right to come here. Once again he’d felt the magic resting in the stones fill him, washing away his anger. Drowsy now, he let his mind drift where it would.

  Images of Maurynna … Of course, he thought with a smile, what else? He refused to dwell on the last memory of her, when she’d sent him away. Instead he recalled climbing about the rigging with her as she’d shown him her ship. He began naming over the things she’d taught him: yard, shrouds, mizzen, boom—what did she call the ropes again? Blast; he couldn’t remember—port, starboard, bow, and stern.

  Stern … There was something about sterns … But his sleepy mind refused to supply it, and when he sought for it, he snapped out of his half-doze. He sat up and stretched.

  He should probably start back soon, before Jerrell sent out a search party. Linden started to stand and then paused.

  Jerrell. Well and well, his errant memory might not want to remember the proper name for ropes aboard a ship, but it presented him with something Jerrell had once said.

  Something about another place of magic …

  Straight inland from the stone circle as the crow flies, it’s supposed to be, like it was deliberate. And whether it’s real or just moonshine, no one goes near that part of the forest if they can help it. People just don’t feel welcome there.

  Even if it wasn’t real, it would give him something to do—and an excuse not to return to Casna for a little while longer.

  He scooped up the bridle as he s
traightened. Catching the gelding, he said, “So, gooserump—shall we see if Dragonlords are welcome in this place that truehumans aren’t?”

  It was a hot and humid ride. And the falrther he got from the coast, the worse it became. But in the distance he could see the tall pines that made up this end of the forest. Linden urged the gelding to a canter. The sooner they were in the shade, the better.

  He sighed with relief as they entered the cool of the woods. All around him the thick trunks of the pines towered straight and true to the blue sky above, bare for three or more spear lengths before the branches began. Underfoot many years’ worth of pine needles muffled the sound of the gelding’s hooves, save for the occasional crunch of a pine cone.

  As he rode deeper into the forest the trees became smaller and closer together, and underbrush appeared. Nothing yet. He pressed on out of idle curiosity until the bushes became so thick that he decided to turn back. As he did, something caught his eye.

  Linden halted the gelding before the tree that had claimed his attention. He whistled softly as he examined the parallel sets of gashes scarring its trunk. Tears of sap bled from the wounds. He touched one golden drop; it was still liquid. He absentmindedly rubbed the sticky resin from his fingers, the aromatic scent of pine filling the air.

  “A bear? This close to the city?” he wondered aloud. Not to mention a damned big one, too; those gashes are shoulderheight to me mounted.

  He remembered the boar that had killed Rann’s father. It seemed the woods about the fair city of Casna bred very large animals indeed. He decided to push on a little farther.

  After a short while dark patches of nervous sweat appeared on the gelding’s neck and shoulders. It danced under him. Rather than risk an argument—and concerned at the flecks of lather he saw now—Linden rode back a short way. When the horse calmed, Linden tethered it once more and retraced his way on foot, pushing a slow and cautious way through the underbrush.