The Last Dragonlord

by Joanne Bertin

  Kief fussed over her a moment more. Then he walked away from the bed. Linden waved the soldiers and the few nobles to accompany them back and moved aside himself. He found himself next to Prince Peridaen who gave him a distracted nod.

  Kief stood alone in the moonlight, perfectly still, his thin face stern and remote. Then his body dissolved into red mist. Someone behind Linden stifled a scream and more than one of the soldiers gave breath to something between a curse and a prayer.

  A flicker of an eyelid later a brown dragon filled the lawn. Kief stretched his wings a moment before settling himself by Tarlna’s side. He curled his long tail around her still form so that the tip touched her cheek. She wrapped her fingers around it.

  “Comfortable?” Linden asked them.

  Well enough, Kief replied. His head jerked up as someone approached the circle of soldiers; Linden heard the rumble of flames building in his chest. Tasha, on her way to her patient’s side, evidently also heard it; she hesitated midway between the onlookers and Tarlna.

  The rumbling subsided when the newcomers proved to be Tasha’s two senior apprentices. They made straight for their master like arrows to the gold and began a hurried conference. Linden guessed the subject to be a basket that the worried-looking Quirel clutched in both hands.

  Linden’s eyebrows went up in surprise when Tasha let loose with a curse fit to scorch a salamander and grabbed the basket. She wrestled the lid off and flung it to the ground. Intrigued, he joined the others drawn to the curious spectacle.

  “You’re certain?” Tasha demanded of Quirel as he joined the semicircle. “You’re completely certain?”

  Kief stretched out his neck so that his head hung over the group. What is all this about? Everyone was so intent on the bottle Tasha now held that they ignored the long fangs only a foot or so above their heads.

  “Quirel says that this is one of the bottles he regularly uses for Prince Rann’s tonic after he makes it each morning,” Tasha said. “But what’s—”

  One of the nobles demanded, “You entrust an apprentice with Prince Rann’s medicines? He’s not even a Healer!”

  Tasha treated the speaker to a withering glare before replying, “My lord, not everyone trained at the College of Healers’ Gift heals by magic. There are, in fact, very, very few of us. Quirel is one of the finest Simplers—herbalist, you would say—to come out of Healers’ Gift. Yes, I trust him to make Rann’s medicines. He makes most of the healing potions used in the palace—including the one that cured your dropsy, Lord Nelenar.”

  She held up the bottle so that they could all see it. “But what’s in here is not Rann’s tonic. Neither of us made this, nor can we identify what’s in it. And that scares me. Who did make it? Why did they? And what is it meant to do?”

  Quirel said quietly, as if musing to himself, “Each morning I give Gevianna the bottle of medicine. She gives it to Rann when she gets him up, and later in the day I retrieve the bottle from her.” He paused, licking his lips. “It’s—it’s always washed before I get it back. The only time that I can think of that it wasn’t was the day of the picnic, Healer.”

  “No wonder Gevianna looked sick with fright,” Tasha said grimly, “if she’s the one switching potions. And I thought it was just because she’s afraid of deep water.”

  A murmur went around the crowd.

  “Whoever it is,” Linden snarled, “damn him or her to Gifnu’s deepest hells. They’re poisoning the boy.” He fought down the rage burning inside. To attack a child—any child, but especially one who looked to him … “I’m placing the boy under Dragonlord protection—my protection. Tev—get Rann and bring him here.”

  And bring this Gevianna here as well—under arrest, Kief said so that all heard.

  The captain saluted smartly. “Dragonlords!” He hurried off, taking a few of the soldiers with him. Prince Peridaen went with them.

  Those left behind waited. And waited. After a time the nobles exchanged surprised glances, then worried looks and whispers. Even Tarlna roused enough to notice something was wrong.

  “This is taking far too long,” she said, her voice weak and shaking.

  “You’re right,” Linden said. “Rann’s chambers aren’t that far from here.” He would give them a little more time.

  That time, and more, passed. Just when Linden had decided to go look for Rann himself, Captain Tev and the soldiers returned.

  Without Rann.

  Otter fiddled aimlessly with the strings on his harp as he sat on his bed in the little sleeping chamber. He had a vague idea for a melody, but the tune would not make itself known beyond a few tantalizing notes. A knock at the door was a welcome diversion.

  “Come in,” he called.

  Gavren the apprentice’s head peered around the edge of the door. “Bard, there’s someone to see you. He’s, um, he’s …”

  Curious at Gavren’s confusion, Otter asked, “What’s his name, lad?”

  “Eel, sir. He came looking for the captain, but when I told him she’d sailed, he asked for you.”

  Now Otter was intrigued. What did the little Cassorin thief want with him? “Send him up.”

  A few minutes later Otter heard the patter of quick, light feet on the stairs followed by the heavier tread of the apprentice. Gavren said, “In there,” and the thief slipped into the room.

  Eel pulled the cap from his head and stood twisting it, then burst into speech. “I don’t like it, Bard! I tell you I don’t like it at all! There’s summat up and if it bodes well for your friend the Dragonlord, then I’m captain of the bleeding City Watch.”

  Startled, Otter said, “The nine hells you say. Sit down, Eel, and tell me more.”

  Maylin quietly closed the door to her sleeping chamber. She stood in her shift, back against the door, and considered what she’d overheard. Then she crossed the room and knelt by the bed. A moment’s blind fumbling found her father’s old sword in its hiding place. She pulled it out and tossed it onto her bed beside the gown she’d planned to wear for the guild’s festivities. Maylin ran her fingers down the silk, biting her lip in regret, but her mind was made up. She pulled off her shift.

  When she was ready, she went down the hall.

  “Where’s the boy?” Linden demanded.

  The sturdy captain look half sick. “My lords—Prince Rann is not in his chambers, any of the chambers nearby, or the great hall. Nor can we find his nurse. It’s as if they’ve … they’ve disappeared.”

  Kief bellowed in everyone’s mind, Find the boy! Rouse everyone, search everywhere—I want Rann found. Go!

  Linden ordered most of the soldiers to go with Tev; only a handful stayed behind to guard Tarlna. Even the nobles joined the search; Tasha sent her two apprentices with them, electing to stay with her patient. Linden debated accompanying the searchers, but knew he’d be of little use. They knew the castle; he did not. But doing nothing was hard. He paced the garden, muscles knotting with tension, Tsan Rhilin a slightly comforting weight on his back, as the search took far too long.

  One thing at least he could do. Beckoning two of the remaining guards, he said, “Bring Duke Beren here.”

  It didn’t take long. Indeed, Beren arrived at a run, ahead of his escort. He halted before Linden, his face pale.

  “What’s this about Rann missing?” he said.

  “The soldiers and others are searching for him,” Linden said. “Duke Beren, tell me what you know of his nurse, Gevianna.”

  Beren slammed a fist into the palm of his other hand. “I knew it. I knew she was up to no good. That’s why I had Beryl—Your Grace, all I know about her is that she came from Lord Duriac’s lands.”

  “And Duriac is Peridaen’s supporter,” Linden said heavily.

  He neither needed nor appreciated the tickling at the back of his mind. Angry, he lashed out, Damn it, Otter! What is it? I don’t have time—

  You’ll have time for this, boyo. I’ve a friend of Rynna’s here who’s been telling me some very interesting things, Otter s
hot back.

  They had better be, Linden said grimly. Someone damn near killed Tarlna and Rann’s missing.

  Surprise, horror. What? What happened?

  Linden quickly told the bard of everything that had come to pass since the council meeting. So now I’ve got to wait here while other people look for the boy, he said. Otter—I have to know: Maurynna is out of this, isn’t she?

  I stood on the dock and watched the ship until it was out of sight. She, at least, is safe.

  Linden sighed in relief. Thank the gods for that much. Things happen in threes, and to find out she’s still in Cassori would have been the crowning touch. Now—who’s this friend of Maurynna’s and what has he to say? Wait; I want Kief and Tarlna to hear this.

  He touched his forehead with the two middle fingers of his right hand and looked at his fellow Dragonlords. Kief nodded; after a moment, so did Tarlna. Linden brought them into the link with Otter. Go on, he said.

  Otter began. Rynna’s friend is named Eel. He’s a Cassorin thief, knows the streets well. He tells me that for some time now prostitutes have been disappearing, never to be seen again. The other night Eel saw someone with a prostitute he knew—a boy named Nobbie—and the next morning Nobbie’s panderer told Eel that the boy was missing. Eel saw that same man come out of an inn today and followed him. I think he suspected the fellow. Eel saw the man meet with another who looked to him like a noble’s servant; Eel thought he saw a steward’s chain of office. He didn’t dare follow after that. Instead he went back to the inn. To make a long story short, there’s a storeroom there that Eel contrived to investigate. Among other interesting things it contains a mage-spelled chest. Next to that he found a bit of dried herb. He’s certain that it came from inside the chest.

  Otter paused; Linden felt him withdraw slightly. When the bard continued, his mindvoice was colored with embarrassment. I did something very stupid; I crumbled a bit and tasted it. Knocked me flat on my ass for a good long while. Good thing both Eel and Maylin were here. I might have cracked my skull when I went down. But I’m fine now.

  Linden silently thanked the gods that Otter was well and refrained from snapping the bard’s fool head off. He let Kief and, to a lesser degree, Tarlna do that as he withdrew slightly from the mindlink.

  Why the hell were prostitutes disappearing—and why prostitutes, but not anyone else? A moment later he had the answer: because no one would miss them but their pimps. And no pimp would approach the City Watch with a tale of a missing bawd. If any group was safe to prey upon, it was the whores of Casna.

  But why? A moment later he thought he had the answer. It made him sick. He reentered the mindlink. Kief—Shaeldar said that he felt blood and death in this magic, yes?

  Yes.

  Why? both Tarlna and Otter asked.

  A memory rose up in Linden’s mind. He felt unclean. The altar. Remember I said it had been used for sacrifice? I think that—What he’d felt that night almost overwhelmed him. I think that’s what happened to those missing whores.

  He said aloud, “Healer Tasha, what kind of herbs would Healers keep in a mage-spelled chest?”

  The Healer looked surprised at the question but answered immediately. “We don’t, my lord; we use locks on chests of medicines. Our form of magic doesn’t work well with others, even simple locking spells. To my knowledge the only kinds of herbs kept like that would be those used in magery, especially dark magery.”

  “Such as?” Linden asked.

  “Hm, the most notorious is—Oh, dear gods—that’s what the smell is in that potion! It was so faint I couldn’t recognize it at first, but it’s the same as you sweated out, Dragonlord.”

  At first Linden didn’t understand what she meant. Then he said, “What is used in a Cassorin farewell cup?”

  “Honey for the sweet, my lord, wormwood or rue for the bitter, and ginger for the warmth of memory.”

  He closed his eyes, sickened. He knew the taste of those herbs; none had the metallic aftertaste he remembered. “What was in the cup that I drank that night?”

  “Keftih,” Healer Tasha whispered. “I’m certain of it. It takes some time to work when it’s mixed with something. If you know it’s there and purge yourself of it quickly enough … I’m sorry, my lord.”

  “So, my good Healer,” Linden said quietly, “am I.” He turned his mind back to the others waiting for him. Otter, ask Eel what the noble’s servant looked like. He waited while Otter spoke with the thief; he had a fair idea of what the answer would be.

  He remembered Sherrine’s tear-streaked face that night at the feast. To himself he thought, And was it all, even from the beginning, a sham? Anger at the betrayal would come later. Now there was only pain.

  The description, when it came, confirmed his suspicions. Linden turned to the soldier nearest him. “You will seek Prince Peridaen and arrest him. Dragonlord’s orders.” He took a deep breath. “You will also arrest Lady Sherrine of Colrane.”

  He started across the garden. Kief asked, Where are you going?

  Linden replied, To find Kas Althume, Peridaen’s so-called steward. He’ll be at the altar—and so, I’m afraid, will Rann. I can’t wait for the soldiers; it will take too long to gather them. Send them after me. He broke into a run.

  Sixty-six

  “Dear gods!” Otter exclaimed. He tried to get to his feet, then his head started spinning again and he fell back onto the bed.

  “Stay down or I’ll sit on you!” Maylin said, fierce as a snow cat. “What happened?”

  “Linden suspects Rann was kidnapped for sacrifice,” Otter said; the thought made his stomach turn. “Something about an altar in the woods, and—”

  Maylin was on her feet in a flash. “I knew it! I knew something would happen tonight!” She ran for the door, pausing only long enough to say, “Eel—don’t you dare let him leave this room, do you understand? He’s too ill. And Otter—Rynna is Linden Rathan’s soultwin, isn’t she?”

  Otter considered lying. “Yes,” he said, ignoring Eel’s yelp of astonishment.

  “I thought so,” Maylin said, and disappeared from view.

  Otter yelled after her, “Where are you going?”

  “Where do you think?” he thought he heard her say, and then the front door slammed.

  Shan’s hooves skidded as they rounded a sharp corner, his shoes striking sparks from the cobblestones; a moment later the big stallion had regained his balance and was racing down the street. Late revelers scattered out of the way as Linden guided the stallion through the streets of Casna. He thanked the gods that he rode Shan now and not the pied gelding. The gelding hadn’t a hope of getting to the altar in time to save Rann; Shan’s Llysanyin strength and speed might be enough.

  He swore. If only he could fly there, but the clearing wasn’t large enough for him to maneuver on the ground as a dragon. Nor could he remain airborne and use his flames—too much chance of catching Rann as well. He thought about Changing once there, but abandoned that thought when he realized the dark magic there would catch him at his most vulnerable and might well unmake him.

  A pity Lleld wasn’t here; the madcap little Dragonlord was small enough to fight within the clearing as a dragon. But she was far to the north; that left him as Rann’s best hope. He prayed he’d get there in time.

  They were nearly to the city gate. “Make way!” he bellowed at the stragglers blocking the passage. “Make way!”

  Soldiers and celebrants alike fled or threw themselves aside before the thundering stallion. Linden ignored the cries behind him, hoping no one had been hurt.

  At last they were outside of the city walls. No time for the road and the leisurely way he’d taken before; Linden hastily recalled what he knew of the area and set Shan to run cross-country. A wave of dizziness made his head spin, reminding Linden that he was still not completely recovered. It passed and he settled into the saddle to ride as he’d never ridden before.

  “Is he awake yet?” Althume asked.

  “Still grogg
y, my lord,” said Pol. “He seems to have been hard hit by the sleeping draught. Is it necessary that he be fully alert?”

  Althume paused a moment in his preparations. “Yes. The greater his terror, the more it will feed the jewel as he dies. And for this working we will need as much magical energy as possible. But we’ve time; our guest of honor has yet to arrive. And she’s certainly taking her time.” Once more he ran the honing stone along the blade he used for sacrifices. “Still, just a little more patience and the prize will be ours.”

  Captain Tev has just reported finding the nurse, Kief said. She was hidden behind a bush in the garden. Her neck was broken, Prince Peridaen cannot be found.

  Linden considered that. He left with the guards on their first search for Rann. If he rode hard he could reach the altar soon.

  And you?

  Another wave of dizziness. Not too far behind him, I hope. He shook his head; the dizzy spells were coming more frequently. But worse yet was the fatigue spreading through his muscles. Whatever Sherrine had given him still visited her revenge upon him.

  Linden—are you well?

  Worry about Tarlna, Kief, he said, clenching his jaw. Not me.

  The boy was finally waking up. Althume leaned over him, smiling coldly. “Well met, young prince,” he said to the frightened brown eyes that focused on him. “I’m glad to see you’ve decided to join us. Oh, no you don’t—stay where you are, boy.” He trilled a note on the bone whistle.

  The dragauth approached the altar. Althume stepped aside so that nothing was between it and the terrified child cowering on the stone. The mage held up a hand; the dragauth halted. Its foul reek hung in the warm night.

  Althume laughed quietly. “No, it isn’t very pretty, is it, little prince? And you know what it is, don’t you?”