The Last Dragonlord

by Joanne Bertin

  For the first time since Tasha had arrived at the river estate, Tarlna Aurianne spoke.

  “Will he survive?”

  Tasha drew a deep breath. “I don’t know. I truly don’t know—and the odds aren’t on his side. Nearly a day since you brought him here and there’s still no change.”

  The bard bowed his head and walked a short distance away. Tarlna Aurianne turned to the comforting embrace her soultwin offered. They clung together.

  “I will try my best,” Tasha said.

  Kief Shaeldar nodded. “We understand, Healer. And we thank you. He’s a stubborn pain in the ass at times, but we’re very fond of him anyway,” the Dragonlord said with a weak smile. “May the gods help you save him.”

  May they indeed, she thought as she left them in the hallway and returned to Linden Rathan’s sickroom.

  Globes of coldfire—left there by the other two Dragonlords—stood sentry at the four posts of the bed. Still unnerved by the idea of grabbing something her instincts clamored would burn her, Tasha caught one of the balls gingerly and directed its light onto Linden Rathan’s face.

  His skin had the grey, waxy look of a corpse. Only the slight rise and fall of his chest reassured her that he still lived. She released the coldfire; it drifted back to its place.

  Once more she sat by his bed and attempted to puzzle out what exactly was wrong with Linden Rathan. If only he could tell her what had happened to him. All anyone was certain of was that two men were involved—and that only because the young sea captain and her cousin had seen them.

  Who were those men? And what did they do to Linden Rathan? Did they poison him? His symptoms suggest it. If so, how did they overpower a Dragonlord? And what did they use?

  But she had no more answers for this Dragonlord than she did for her young prince. All she could do was wait. And hope.

  “By all the gods, Kas, what did you do to him?” Peridaen demanded. “Rumor has it that Linden Rathan’s dying! What was in that cursed potion?”

  Althume watched the agitated prince stride from one side of the room to the other for a moment before answering; all the while Peridaen yanked at his beard as if trying to pull it out. “The potion should not prove fatal, I don’t think, even without the antidote.”

  That brought Peridaen to a dead halt. “Antidote? This thing was deadly enough to require an antidote and you didn’t give it to him? What were you thinking of? What if he dies? We’ll have Dragonlords turning the country inside out looking for answers. Why didn’t you give it to him? And why didn’t you tell—?”

  Weary of the flood of questions, Althume broke in, “Because you’re sometimes unwilling to take necessary risks. And as for why I didn’t give him the antidote, remember the two travelers? It was leave Linden Rathan there to take his chances or be caught. I don’t need to tell you what that would have meant. The man’s as healthy and strong as the proverbial ox; he should pull through. I’m more worried about the aftereffects. It is likely he will be severely depressed, perhaps even suicidal. A pity we can’t warn the other Dragonlords, but one can’t have everything.

  “And if he does die—by his own hand, or because of the potion—we might well lose Sherrine,” the mage continued. “I have no idea what losing a soultwin would do to a fledgling.” He shrugged. “If so, we return to the original plan.”

  Peridaen eyed him. “Since when had we decided to abandon it? Take care you don’t overstep your boundaries, Kas. I have not yet decided that we shall attempt to enslave Sherrine. Do nothing else to involve or endanger the girl, do you understand?”

  Althume was beginning to understand all too well. “Of course, my lord.”

  Maurynna woke up with a pounding headache. She sat up carefully, holding her head in her hands; it felt as if mad smiths hammered behind her eyes, and her stomach was none too steady.

  “How are you feeling, dear?” her aunt asked.

  Maurynna took a chance and cracked her eyelids open. “Like I’ve been flogged from one end of the Sea Mist to the other with belaying pins. My head hurts,” she complained.

  “Some meadowsweet tea might help with that,” Aunt Elenna said. “Now that you’re awake I’ll get you some. Are you hungry yet?”

  “No!” Maurynna said, swallowing hard.

  Elenna got up from her chair. “You will be later. But the tea will be best for now.” She hesitated in the doorway on her way out. “Are you certain you’re well enough to be left alone?”

  Rubbing her temples, Maurynna said in surprise, “Of course I am. Why shouldn’t I be?”

  “Do you remember coming home?”

  She had to think. “No,” she admitted. “Or going to bed.” She squinted at the window. The curtains were drawn, but she could see a faint light outside. “It’s almost dawn, isn’t it?”

  Aunt Elenna shook her head. “No, dear—it’s twilight. The tisrahn was last night. You were barely conscious when Otter brought you here. Then you fell into a sleep we couldn’t rouse you out of all day long.”

  Maurynna gaped at her. For the first time she noticed the tenseness in Elenna’s voice, the fatigue in her aunt’s face. “I—I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I. You kept muttering about ‘golden voices’ in your sleep. At first I thought that perhaps you had whatever made Linden ill, but Otter assured me that wasn’t the case. What it was, or what he thinks it might be, he wouldn’t say.”

  “How did I get home? Otter couldn’t have carried me. And where is he? And Maylin?” Maurynna asked, trying to think despite the pounding in her skull. “Have you heard anything about Linden?” She clenched her fists and squeezed her head between them as if that would still the smiths’ hammers, and tried to remember what she’d dreamed.

  “Oh, gods, Rynna—I’m sorry. I forgot about your headache; I’m too tired to think straight anymore what with everything that’s happening. If you and Maylin ever worry me like that again, I’ll—Let me get that tea for you,” said her aunt as she hurried away.

  Maurynna leaned back against the wall. She was in Maylin’s bed and not the pallet on the floor, she noticed. I wonder if Maylin’s back from the other side of the river yet?

  A short while later she had her answer. Maylin entered bearing a mug and pushed the door closed with one foot.

  “Drink this first before I answer any questions,” Maylin said. “Mother’s orders.”

  Maurynna knew better than to argue. As quickly as she could, she gulped the scalding tea. By the time she finished, the headache had changed from excruciating to merely painful. “Maylin, tell me everything before I go mad. Where did you sleep last night? Did you see Linden?”

  “I stayed at the Dragonlords’ estate. And, yes, I did see Linden when Kief Shaeldar brought him in. Rynna, I’m sorry, but—he looked awful. They wouldn’t let me see him this morning when I asked. Everyone went about looking frightened. I saw Healer Tasha come out of his room at one point and she looked grim. I don’t think she even noticed me; she called for a basin of heated water and went back in.”

  Maurynna closed her eyes and tried not to cry, but the tears leaked out anyway. She searched inside herself; after all, hadn’t she known somehow last night that Linden was in trouble? But she found no answers there. It felt like pushing against a locked door. “And where’s Otter in all this? And what’s wrong with me?”

  “I passed Otter on the road as the Dragonlords’ guards were escorting me home. He didn’t stop to talk; he just galloped past, riding hard for the estate. He looked tired. And we don’t know what’s wrong with you. From what Otter said, you took sick as the two of you were walking home. Don’t you remember?”

  “No.” Maurynna brushed the tears from her face. “I don’t. Tell me.”

  “He carried you as long as he could, he said, then by the grace of the gods found his horse and Linden’s. I guess that they stopped running once they’d found each other and felt safe together. Somehow he got you onto Linden’s horse, tied you into the saddle and brought you home l
ike that. You kept talking about ‘soaring through the storm’ and other strange things.”

  Maylin fell silent, studying Maurynna as if she were some new type of bird never before seen. Maurynna squirmed under the intent gaze.

  Maylin asked, “How did you know something was wrong with Linden?”

  Maurynna shrugged uncomfortably. “I just did. I don’t know how.”

  Maylin’s reply came as a surprise. “Good.” And she would say nothing more.

  Fifty-one

  Having finished the tale explaining Linden’s absence from the tisrahn five days ago now, Maurynna sat in the back room of Almered’s shop and slouched wearily in her chair. It was the first day she’d felt strong enough to go out.

  Or wanted to. She couldn’t go on like this for much longer, both worrying about Linden and angry with him. Had he had any intention of truly going to the tisrahn? The remembered scent of woods lily as he lay in her arms nearly turned her stomach. Once more the black mood that had nearly engulfed her the past few days threatened to swallow her. She shook it off.

  “So I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner, but I kept waiting and waiting for Otter to come back. The other Dragonlords had sent orders that I was not to try to see Linden, you see. Otter would send notes back to us but, hang it all, it’s not the same as talking to him. His wretched messages were so brief and guarded that there was really nothing in them. So for nearly a tenday I’ve been sick with worry.

  “Otter came back this morning for a little while and we got into a fight. I tried to make him see sense about something and he would have none of it. And when I asked him if the rumors were true—that Linden’s dying—he denied it, but I don’t think he knows for certain either.” She slammed her fists against her thighs. “I don’t know anything and I need to know, damn it!”

  Almered caught her hands and made soothing noises. “I understand. This is not an easy thing for you; there is something special between you and this Dragonlord. And I wish I could help you, to say the thing that will give you comfort, but I do not have those words,” he said, his accent thicker than usual with his anxiety. He finished sadly, “All I can do is listen.”

  She smiled a little. “Thank you for doing that.”

  “Are our Houses not as kin? Whether we share blood or not, you are my cousin, my little sister—I have said so. So I listen. But I also have questions.”

  His apprentice entered bearing a tray. Maurynna sat a bit straighter when she saw what was on it. There was a squat ceramic teapot and two cups in the Assantikkan style, the cups low and without handles, meant to be cradled in the hands so that the warmth of the tea comforted the drinker both inside and out. All three were in the pale blue glaze that was so prized in Almered’s country; intricate designs in gold leaf swirled over their graceful curves. She was no expert, but she thought she recognized the style of the artisan whose wares graced the emperor’s own table. Almered had brought out his best, a subtle reassurance that he bore her no ill will over the tisrahn.

  She accepted the steaming cup offered her, sniffed, and smiled. The best tea service to honor her and homely chamomile tea to soothe her. She waited until the apprentice left once more before asking, “And what are these questions?”

  “I have heard differing stories as to what happened the night of the tisrahn, but all agree that Linden Rathan’s assailants were disturbed by two, maybe three or four men. Men—not young women. Why? One would think the palace and the other Dragonlords would wish to honor you for saving his life.”

  “Under other circumstances they would, I think.” She sighed. “But because they don’t know who attacked Linden or why, the other two seem to feel that Maylin and I might be the next victims if it’s nosed about we were involved. At least that’s what one of Otter’s little messages said. And that’s why I’m not allowed to see him; they think someone might put two and two together.”

  Almered fingered one of his braids, nodding to himself. “Ah; the truth will go no further than this room, then. And I am glad they are so cautious. But it must be hard for you, yes?”

  “Yes,” Maurynna agreed, her voice shaking. “I want to see him, Almered. I must see him. Why can’t they understand that?”

  Suddenly her doubts returned; she slumped in her chair once more. Despite all of Otter’s reassurances to the contrary, had Linden been with Lady Sherrine? If not, where had that trace of perfume come from? Someone else entirely?

  Remembering what Maylin had told her her first morning in Casna, she doubted it. No one else at court used that scent. The only other customers for it were some women of the wealthy merchants’ class.

  But no merchant, no matter how rich, had an estate on the far side of the river. Therefore Linden had to have been with Lady Sherrine.

  Perhaps she shouldn’t be anxious for Linden but hating him instead.

  Healer Tasha entered the chamber where Otter sat talking quietly with Tarlna and Kief.

  “I think he’ll be able to answer some questions now,” she said. “For the first time he was able to really understand what I said to him and reply sensibly. But you won’t be able to stay for long. Also, don’t tell him at this time about Tsan Rhilin. The shock would be very bad for him. He’s still quite ill.”

  Kief and Tarlna quickly rose. Otter stood more slowly. “May I,” he asked, “see him as well?”

  He held his breath while the two Dragonlords exchanged glances and, no doubt, arguments in mindspeech. At last Kief shrugged.

  Tarlna said, “Yes. You know better what the girl said.”

  Leading the mystified Healer, they trooped through the halls until they came to Linden’s room. The scarlet-clad soldier before the door—on loan from the palace’s own elite guard at Rann’s tearful insistence—opened the door for them and stepped aside.

  “Healer,” Kief began.

  “Dragonlord, I will wait out here. I trust that you will not upset my patient, but be warned that if you do, I will order you to leave. And please don’t stay too long and tire him. He’s weak.”

  He’s weak.

  The words chilled Otter. He followed the Dragonlords into Linden’s room. Boyo—how could anyone as big as you be “weak”? You must have been as strong as the farm bull even before you Changed. I can’t believe—Oh, dear gods.

  Linden sat propped up by pillows. From the way he sagged into them, Otter doubted Linden capable of sitting up without their support. His color still wasn’t good and he’d lost a great deal of weight. Cheekbones, nose, and jaw pushed against the skin drawn tight over them. Somehow his condition hadn’t seemed so bad when he was sleeping.

  But worse yet was the dullness in his sunken eyes. All the sparkling liveliness that made him Linden was gone. Only the merest shadow was left.

  Both Kief and Tarlna stopped short and cursed softly at the sight of him. Gathering his courage, Otter passed them and sat on the edge of the bed. Linden regarded him with no sign of interest. Otter felt the bed behind him sink as the soultwins took places at the foot of the bed.

  “Boyo,” the bard said. “Can you tell us what happened to you?”

  Linden hesitated long enough before answering that Otter wondered if he’d understood. Then, “No.”

  Just “No,” as if Linden had no interest in what had been done to him.

  Kief tried next. “Do you remember the two men? Were they attacking you?”

  Linden blinked a few times. “Two men? I don’t know,” he said, his voice falling.

  Time for a gamble. Otter leaned forward. “Maurynna said that when she and Maylin found you, there were two men bending over you. You seemed to be unconscious.”

  A tiny spark appeared in the grey eyes at the mention of Maurynna’s name. Otter nodded encouragement, and then nearly pulled his beard out as it disappeared the next moment. Linden sighed and began smoothing the sheet tucked around his waist.

  “I don’t remember anything, and I’m sorry, but I don’t really care. I just want to … sleep.”

  Otter
didn’t care for the sound of that. Not at all. He slewed around to exchange desperate glances with the other Dragonlords.

  Go on, Kief said.

  Tarlna said, Mention Maurynna’s name as much as possible; it seems to be the only thing that catches his attention.

  Otter licked his lips and began, “You were at Lord Sevrynel’s, do you remember? And you had to leave to meet Maurynna.”

  Linden stopped picking at the sheet and frowned. “I left there,” he said slowly. “Yes. I do remember that. I was angry because, because—”

  The brief moment of animation was failing. Otter hurriedly filled in, “The tisrahn. You were late for the tisrahn. Don’t you remember that? Maurynna had invited you. It was for Maurynna’s friend Almered’s nephew.” He wondered how many times he could work Maurynna’s name in without Linden noticing the ploy and ceasing to react.

  The spark of interest was back. “That’s right—the tisrahn. I didn’t want Maurynna to be any angrier than she was, so I hurried.”

  The words tumbled out one after the other now. Linden pushed himself to sit up straighter; Otter winced at the sight of the Dragonlord’s powerful arms shaking with the effort of supporting his weight even this little bit.

  “The ferry was on the other side. I remember that. I had to wait for it.”

  Now to introduce Maurynna’s mad idea. Otter shook his head a little, remembering their conversation—hells, their fight—earlier.

  “What do you mean he was poisoned?” Maurynna had demanded.

  “We don’t know that. That’s only speculation on Healer Tasha’s part. His symptoms seem to suggest—,” Otter tried to explain but was cut off.

  “Then she did it, that bitch.”

  At first he’d thought she’d meant the Healer. “Tasha?”

  “Of course not! I mean Lady Sherrine. She was with Linden at some point; I smelled her perfume.”