Her eyes were still closed and she looked terrible, but now her chest rose and fell in a steady if shallow rhythm.
Damn!
The mindvoice was pure Kief. Linden heaved a sigh of relief. What happened? he asked.
We—Shaeldar and I—were following along the thread of magic when it just ended. I think the mage felt us and ceased his or her attack. Shaeldar said that this magic is tainted with much blood and death.
Blood and death. The words touched an echo in his mind. But the errant notion fled as Healer Tasha ran into the council room.
Damn, damn, damn! Althume slammed a fist against the desk, ignoring the pain. He’d been so close! Damn the Dragonlord. He hadn’t thought the man would risk rousing the dragonsoul. But the bastard had indeed, may he rot in the deepest hells.
Althume reined in his anger and examined the events of the past few minutes. The soultrap jewel glowed more brightly than ever, but it was still not charged enough for what he intended. He would have to take the risk of using the boy after all. At least he had sensed the hunters coursing the trail left by the magical attack before they could find him. That was to the good. He needn’t worry about anyone coming after him. And Peridaen no doubt had his paltry regency after the farce just played out in the council room—as if that mattered a single copper.
He replaced the soultrap jewel in its silk-lined box and shut it away. Althume rose to his feet.
“My lord—did it work?” Pol asked.
“No. Kief Shaeldar—both parts of Kief Shaeldar—interfered. We’ll have to move fast. You know what to do. Then meet me in the woods. Oh—and Pol? The girl knows too much.”
Sixty-four
Sherrine watched with approval as Tandavi brought out the new dress and arrayed it upon the bed for her inspection. It was a beautiful thing, a lovely shade of green, and of a most unusual silk brocade patterned with fern leaves, so rich that the dress needed no further ornamentation of embroidery. She stroked the fabric and nodded. “This, with the gold-colored silk undergown and my necklace and earrings of emeralds and gold. And we shall see what we shall see.”
She was pleased with herself. Surely Linden had come to his senses by now—else why had he allowed her to return?—and maybe the dress would remind him of their first tryst. Who knew what such memories might lead to. Sherrine spared a moment to think of the sailor and wondered if the bitch had sailed away yet.
What matter? She would be the one to be with Linden at the castle tonight, not that trull. Sherrine smiled as she made her plans.
A knock at her chamber door barely interrupted her thoughts. She left Tandavi to deal with it. But scant moments later the servant broke in on those same pleasant thoughts.
“My lady? There’s a note come for you—and the messenger says he must have your reply right away.”
Sherrine sighed with vexation and snatched the folded parchment sheet from Tandavi’s hand. Then her mood brightened; perhaps it was from Linden! She broke the plain wax seal eagerly.
It was not, she saw as she quickly read the contents, from Linden. It was, however, from another she dared not ignore. “May you rot in the deepest hells!” she whispered. Then, louder, “Tell the messenger ‘yes,’ Tandavi, then set out one of my riding habits for me. I won’t be going to the palace until later.”
She read the note again. Damn you, you bastard.
Tarlna lay on a bed in the queen’s chambers, blankets tucked around her and Kief hovering anxiously over Healer Tasha’s shoulder. She looked frail, even pathetic—most unlike the Tarlna Linden knew—and her skin in the candlelight had a transparent look that he didn’t like.
He stood well back from the bed, having placed himself without thinking between his fellow Dragonlords and the door. Tsan Rhilin rode in its accustomed place on his back. The feel of the well-worn baldric across his chest comforted him.
Duchess Alinya stood at his elbow. “This is the work of the Fraternity,” she said quietly.
“I agree. Kief said that this had the same feel about it as the attack on me,” Linden replied.
“And no idea what their goal was,” said Alinya. “Dragonlord, forgive the curiosity of an old woman, but what of your soultwin?”
“Well out of this, thank the gods. She set sail today. And no matter how strong a mage the Fraternity has, there’s no possibility that he can work a magic to harm her over that much running water—even if he knew about her.” Linden sent up a private prayer of thanks.
“And she still is ignorant of her true self?”
“Yes—though I think she may be within weeks of First Change now. There were … occurrences that may hasten the advent of that. But with her far away from any other triggers, there should still be time before it happens,” Linden said, and crossed his fingers where Alinya couldn’t see. He hoped he’d have that time to find Maurynna before her First Change.
Maurynna staggered to the open window to be met with darkness. Night had fallen while she lay unconscious. She was so frenzied now she didn’t care that what she planned was dangerous; she only knew what must come next.
Find Linden.
It was the only thought her mind could hold. Find Linden—it was imperative. It never occurred to her to wonder what help she, a truehuman, could offer a Dragonlord who had been a trained warrior even before he’d Changed. It didn’t matter.
She had to find him, to get away from the ship, to get outside. She seized the carved molding above the window and swung herself up so that she sat on the sill, her legs dangling out of the window. A deep breath, a strong kick, and she was falling into darkness. It took forever.
Then she was in the water. It rushed up her nose; she sank down and down. At first the water was warm, but as she plunged into the depths it chilled her to the bone. She kicked, swimming desperately for the surface as her lungs cried out for air.
What if there are sharks? The thought came unbidden as she broke the surface at last. She banished it from her mind, gasping and treading water, refusing to think what might glide through the dark fathoms below her. Her lungs still burning, she struck out for shore.
Only the need to find Linden gave her the strength for the longest swim she’d ever attempted. It drove her on mercilessly when she would have slipped, exhausted, under the water. More than once a wave caught her and she breathed water instead of air. Hacking and coughing, the salt water burning her nose, mouth, and lungs, Maurynna would tread water for a moment before forcing her weary arms and legs to move again.
The moon came out from behind the clouds. All at once the water around her turned to silver; she swam along a path of light to the beach. In some recess of her mind she remembered once again the Yerrin legend she’d invoked the night she’d cast the coin into the well and Linden had appeared. Something about when Sister Moon let down her hair to wash it, it stretched from horizon to shore.
Yes, that was it. And Sister Moon had helped her once already. Please help me now. A fine thing it would be to drown on my birthday! a small voice at the back of her head complained.
The waves were stronger. Maurynna raised her head, hoping to see the shore, and missed a stroke. A wave caught her, tumbling her like a bit of seaweed. She panicked and thrashed in the water. One arm scraped against a myriad of tiny knives.
Barnacles, her mind said.
Maurynna twisted in the water and seized a rock before the wave could drag her out again. She clung to it like another barnacle, ignoring the cuts the thousands of tiny shellfish inflicted. Her long hair floated on the water around her.
She let the next wave lift her a little higher on the rock so that her head and shoulders were well above the water. Resting, gathering her courage, Maurynna studied her surroundings.
She could see the shore now: a narrow stretch of pebbled beach at the foot of a cliff. Before she could despair of finding a way up the cliff, her vision changed once more. For a moment the moonlit world was painfully sharp, as if she saw with the eyes of an eagle.
There w
as a path leading up the cliff. She refused to consider that it might be no more than a mad vision. Before her unnaturally sharp vision faded and she lost sight of the way, Maurynna flung herself from the rock. She swam arrow-straight for the foot of the trail.
A final wave tossed her onto the beach, grinding her against the stones until she pulled free of the water. Her chest heaving, Maurynna fell on her side. Every muscle she had—and quite a few she was certain weren’t hers—ached.
Gods help me—a beating couldn’t be worse than this.
Slowly—too slowly—her strength returned. But so did the unnatural sharpening of her senses. The sound of the surf pounded in her ears, threatening to shake her head apart. And the salty scent of the air was so strong she thought she would drown in it. She felt every pebble beneath her as an exquisite pain. It felt as if she had been half-flayed and then flung onto thorns. She squeezed her eyes shut; one more assault on her overwhelmed mind and she would cast herself back into the waves to end the torture.
One moment she was in torment; the next, it was as though nothing had been amiss. I am not going mad! I am not! she told herself fiercely. She opened her eyes again.
Somehow she got to her hands and knees. Once more the stones dug into her, but this time it was no more painful than it should have been. She welcomed it as a reassurance of her sanity. Gingerly she crawled to the bottom of the path and looked up.
The moonlight showed her the trail. It was cruelly steep for one so tired. Tears flowed down her face; she doubted she had the strength to make the climb, yet she had to try.
She had to find Linden. Something inside drove her on, beating at her mind with wings of flame. It tormented her with the need for haste. Groaning, Maurynna inched her way upright, leaning heavily against the wall of the cliff. At last she stood; her legs shook like a jellyfish flung too high on a beach—but she stood. Holding herself erect by will alone, Maurynna began the climb.
The path was narrow and rose at a steep angle, turning back and forth upon itself as it climbed. To climb it seemed harder than flying to the moon.
I’d have trouble with this when rested, she thought. She forced her legs to move. The rough path hurt her bare feet as she inched her way along.
One more step; just one more step. The chant formed in her mind as she climbed. One more step.
She lied to her trembling legs, tricking them into climbing higher and higher. Almost to the top …
Just. One. More.
She staggered and tripped. Instinctively she put out her hands to break her fall. The left slammed into rock; Maurynna welcomed the pain. The right met—air.
Her body tried to follow it into the well of darkness below. Maurynna screamed. Yet a strange paralysis kept her from trying to save herself. A moment before she would have fallen to her death, her sliding fingers found a knob in the stone. The paralysis lifted; Maurynna seized the protrusion and threw all her remaining strength into anchoring herself. A moment later she scrabbled a way back onto the path.
She lay on her stomach, gasping. Ahead of her was one more switchback, then the last stretch—only a furlong or so—to the top.
And if she slipped again?
She was more frightened than she had ever been in her life. Even nearly falling from the rigging hadn’t frightened her so badly. For at those times she’d never felt the urge to jump as she had just now. Behind her desperate struggle to stay on the path had been a fierce voice urging her to fling herself from the cliff.
Ah, gods have mercy upon me—I am going mad.
She wanted to weep. But she still had to get to the top—and to Linden. Since she feared that if she tripped again, this time she would give in to the wild voice in her head, Maurynna crawled the rest of the way. It was slower, but at least she’d get there alive. At last she pulled herself over the edge and stumbled away from the cliff as fast as she could.
Something huge loomed out of the darkness over her. She cried out and fell to her knees before it, throwing her hands out to protect herself.
Quirel ladled yet another dosing bottle full of what he and the other apprentices irreverently called “Tasha’s aching head anodyne.” He popped a cork in and shoved it home with practiced ease, then passed the bottle on to Jeralin, who packed it into a basket with its fellows.
“We’re short of the half gross that Tasha wanted,” Jeralin reported. “Three more will do it.”
“Bother. I don’t have any more bottles,” Quirel said. He groomed the hairs of his straggly mustache. “Do you really think we’re going to need so many this time? What with Tarlna Aurianne taken sick like that, I don’t think there’s going to be much celebrating tonight.”
“Maybe not much celebrating, but I’ll wager there will be a lot of people who’ll get drunk just to forget. And even if I’m wrong, do you want to be the one to tell Tasha we decided not to follow her orders?”
“Ah—no. Point well taken. Shall we see if we can find any other bottles?” Quirel said.
Jeralin pushed the basket aside and got up. “I wonder if she cleaned out that mystery potion yet.” She began browsing the shelves behind Tasha’s desk.
Quirel followed her. “What mystery potion? Don’t try to tell me that Tasha can’t identify one of her own brews.”
“Where did she? … Here we are—under her desk.” Jeralin straightened and set a basket triumphantly down on the desk. “This one. I found it behind a chest.” She pulled the lid off to reveal a dosing bottle snuggled down inside one of the partitions in the basket. “Have a care for your dinner if you sniff it.”
Her fellow apprentice examined the basket and snorted. “Very funny, Jer.”
“What do you mean?”
Quirel fingered the shoulder strap. “See that knot where the lacing broke? I did that myself. This is the basket I used to carry Prince Rann’s medicine every morning. I’d been wondering where it was. Behind a chest, you say? How did it get there? But let’s see this mystery bottle.” He plucked it from its pocket. “Oh, for pity’s sake. This is Rann’s tonic, the same that I make for him every day; I recognize the bottle—there are two of them with this streaky glaze. Stop trying to scare me, you wretched cow.”
Jeralin said, “Quirel—whatever that is, it is most certainly not Rann’s tonic. I think that Tasha had best know of this right away.”
Sixty-five
Stone. Her outthrust hands touched stone. Maurynna ran her fingers down the cool granite, then sat back on her heels and pushed the hair back from her face, brushed tears from her eyes. The mad compulsion to find Linden was gone as suddenly as it had seized her.
Shaking with exhaustion, she found herself kneeling before a tall, pillarlike stone. For a moment she stared, uncomprehending, then memories from previous voyages along the coast of Cassori came to mind: a headland, jutting boldly into the sea, crowned with standing stones.
Could it be the same place?
Using the menhir to steady herself, Maurynna rose to her feet and began to explore. There were stones to either side of hers, more than the three that she was familiar with, which could be seen from a ship. The stones formed a circle with a trilithon in the center. It was the trilithon that drew her. Step by unsteady step she approached it, wary at first, then more quickly as she came closer.
At last she stood inside the trilithon. She tried to span the distance between the uprights, but she guessed her arms would need to be half again as long as they were. Overwhelmed with fatigue, Maurynna leaned against one upright; the next moment she slid down and curled up against it, her cheek pressed against the stone. Somehow she felt welcomed, cared for. She could even imagine that the stone sang to her.
She was safe here. Beyond wondering at the strangeness of it all, Maurynna closed her eyes and let whatever sang in the stone take her, hardly noticing when the golden voice in her head joined it.
It was some three candlemarks before Tasha’s eyes flickered open. She looked dully around her.
“There’s nothing more that
I can do, Dragonlord,” Healer Tasha said. She stood up to let Kief take her place at Tarlna’s bedside.
Kief rubbed his forehead. His face was grey with exhaustion. “I understand, Healer. Thank you for your help.”
Linden mindspoke him. I’ve been thinking—what if there’s another attack on Tarlna? Will Shaeldar be able to respond quickly enough?
You knew about that? Kief asked, surprised.
I heard him quite clearly, thank you, Linden said dryly. It was like standing with my head next to a war drum. He was rewarded with a flash of weary amusement. I was thinking that if there is—may the gods forbid—a second attack, you might be better able to fight it—
—As a dragon. You may well be right; if nothing else, it will be easier to call upon Shaeldar if I need to do so. Aloud, Kief said, “Healer—would it hurt my soultwin to be outside this night? I wish to keep watch over her in my other form.”
Tasha looked thoughtful. “No, Your Grace. The night is dry enough. It might even be cooler in the gardens and more comfortable for her. I’ll have the soldiers make up a litter to carry her.”
Kief nodded. “Well enough, then. I’ll leave the arrangements to you. Just pick out an area large enough for me to Change.”
Panic flared in the Healer’s eyes. “Ah, Dragonlord—”
Linden took pity on her. “Healer Tasha—I’ll go with you. I know how much room he’ll need.”
They went out together. Linden waited as the Healer gave the soldiers outside the door directions for the litter. Part of him felt that he neglected his duty; the other, more logical part, said anything that could get past this many soldiers and an enraged Dragonlord defending his soultwin would hardly notice one Linden Rathan in its path.
Still, uneasiness rode heavy upon his shoulders as he followed Tasha down the hall.
Balls of coldfire bobbed around the garden like giant fireflies. Linden watched as the soldiers carefully set the litter down. Kief and Tasha transferred Tarlna from it to the featherbed that had been brought outside.
The Last Dragonlord Page 43
