The frantic mindcall rocked Kief back onto his haunches. The fear in it sent his head snapping up in an instinctive search for danger. He looked down at his soultwin.
She nodded. You know what to do.
Tsan Rhilin in hand, Linden slipped and slid down the slope. He had to get to a larger open space. “Shan! Shan!”
The big stallion slunk out of the trees, looking everywhere at once. Linden shoved the greatsword into its sheath and somehow forced his exhausted body into the saddle. “She’s gone, you coward. Did you think that she was going to eat you?” he said as they headed into the woods.
Shan nodded and broke into a run, dodging around the trees. Linden cast his pride to the winds and grabbed the high pommel of the saddle, content with staying on Shan’s back any way he could.
After far too long for Linden’s peace of mind they reached the grassland. In the distance he could see two people and a horse. One person led the horse; the other perched on the saddle. He didn’t care who they were as long as they didn’t interfere.
He brought Shan to a sliding halt and tumbled from the saddle. “Get back,” he ordered. When the stallion had moved to a safe distance, Linden initiated Change—and prayed.
Thank the gods, it was beginning. Linden felt his body begin to flow, then—nothing. He was as solid as ever. This can’t be happening; I must reach Maurynna before it’s too late. As if the gods teased him, Maurynna winged back into sight, circling as though she was drawn to his vicinity. But she didn’t land.
To Change when he was so exhausted was dangerous; this was his magic’s way of telling him to stop. He’d just have to take his chances. He tried again.
This time when it ended he found himself flat on his back, shaking. A face appeared in his circle of vision.
“It is you,” Maylin said.
Rann also appeared. “Linden—what’s wrong?”
Linden blinked, unable to believe his eyes at first. How on earth did—? It didn’t matter. He had to get up, get to Maurynna. She wasn’t strong enough to fly for so long. She had to land soon—or die. He struggled to sit up.
As if in response to his agitation, Kyrissaean trumpeted in alarm. To Linden’s astonishment it was answered from even higher in the sky. Another, smaller, dragon arrowed out of the sky, diving for Kyrissaean. She screamed in anger and lashed out at the intruder. But the second dragon would not be turned away; from Linden’s viewpoint it looked as if the smaller dragon landed on her back and was forcing her to spiral lower and lower.
Kief’s mindvoice thundered in his head. You will retreat, Kyrissaean, and await your proper time.
Kyrissaean snarled, but there was an edge of exhaustion in it now. She was too tired to fight back.
“Dear gods,” Linden whispered. “Let her land before it’s too late.” He could see where Kief was herding her. Maylin and Rann helped him to stand. Shan came forward; he hung on the stallion’s saddle and as quickly as Linden could move, the four of them hurried to the site.
He nearly panicked when he lost sight of Kyrissaean and Kief, then realized they were in a hollow. When at last he stood upon the lip of the shallow depression, he forgot how tired he was.
Maurynna—Maurynna, not Kyrissaean—knelt in the bottom of the bowl-shaped hollow. Kief, still in dragon-form, lay curled in a half-circle around her. Linden ran down the gentle slope.
Maurynna looked up at him, one hand pushing the long black hair back from her face in a gesture he knew well. He caught her to him, holding her tightly, afraid to let her go. “Welcome, little one. It is so good to have you here at last.”
Maurynna said, “Is it true, Linden?”
He touched her face, smiling. “It is indeed, little one. It is indeed.”
She buried her face against his shoulder, laughing and crying at the same time.
Sixty-nine
Linden and Maurynna stood together before the fireplace in his sleeping chamber in the city house, a single ball of coldfire dancing in the air above them. All the other players in this night’s drama were still at the palace; he’d pleaded fatigue—his own and Maurynna’s—and left the others to untangle the last threads in the plot; a plea met with too many too innocent looks, and a barely concealed smirk from Otter, blast him. He’d get the bard back one day. But not tonight … He rubbed his cheek against Maurynna’s hair.
Together at last.
The words sang through him again and again as he held her close. She, in turn, held him as tightly as if she intended to never let him go again.
Gods, but he’d never known such happiness. He smiled, wishing the moment could go on forever.
She said, “I’m dreaming, aren’t I?” Wonder filled her voice.
He chuckled. “No, thank the gods. This is very real.”
She ran a hand down his back. “Don’t believe you.”
“Shall we see if this convinces you?” he teased, and tilted her face up to meet his.
He kissed her, a long and lingering kiss that left them both breathless when it finally ended.
“Well?” he asked, smiling down at her.
She looked thoughtful a moment. Then, grinning mischievously, she said, “Perhaps just a little more … convincing?”
He laughed aloud and set about the pleasant task with a will.
Seventy
It was quite the gathering in one of the palace gardens. Rann and Kella romped with Bramble the wolfhound. Otter played his harp. Eel sat near him, resplendent in a new jerkin and cap, nodding his head in time to the music. The older Dragonlords and Duchess Alinya talked in the shade of the pavilion; Tarlna looked healthier already. Maylin, Quirel, and Jeralin sampled the various delicacies on the laden tables. Elenna and Tasha were discussing, of all things, methods of distillation. Linden supposed it was something common to perfumery and herbalism, but he was too lazy to really care. Instead he pulled Maurynna a little closer, so that her head rested on his shoulder for a moment. She smiled up at him.
He half-closed his eyes, wondering, if he tried hard enough, if he would see an auburn-haired shadow by the edge of the garden. Despite her part in the plot that had brought them all to the edge of disaster, they owed this happy ending to Sherrine. I hope you find your own happiness in the afterlife, he thought sadly. You deserve it. Fare thee well, Sherrine.
Maurynna turned her head and smiled up at him. “I still don’t believe this,” she said.
“I’m very happy to,” he replied.
“Wait until I drive you mad. I’m very stubborn, you know,” she warned.
“So am I. I foresee some interesting centuries ahead of us.” He kissed her; her head went back down on his shoulder as she laughed quietly.
After a time she asked, “When do we go to Dragonskeep?”
“As soon as we have word that your crew knows you’re safe. They can tell your Thalnian family the tidings. Beren sent a fast ship out this morning to overtake them, so stop fretting, love; your crew won’t have long to worry.”
“Remon must be worried sick,” Maurynna said. “I feel awful about that.”
“We’ll make it up to him and the others somehow. Ah—there’s Beren. I’d been wondering where he was.” Linden waved to the new regent of Cassori as the man entered the garden, his newly betrothed lady on his arm. Now that the stress of the council meetings were over, both Beryl and Beren had changed tremendously; Linden found that he liked them both. Beren made for them as if the wave had been a summons, pulling Beryl along with him.
He greeted them with a slight bow as Beryl made a courtesy. “Dragonlords.”
Linden felt Maurynna shift under his arm; she was not yet at ease with her new rank. It was a hard thing to get used to. “Duke Beren, my lady Beryl,” he said, nodding in return. “Will you sit with us?” he asked, secretly hoping they would decline.
“Thank you, but—may I speak with you a moment, Linden Rathan? Alone? My apologies, Maurynna Kyrissaean.”
Linden frowned. There was something in Beren’s tone … . �
��Wait here, love. I won’t be long.”
Beryl took his place on the bench; she and Maurynna began talking.
Beren led him to an empty section of the garden, well away from the gathering. “Your Grace,” the duke began, “I’ve a double confession to make.”
Oh, gods—what was the man about to stir up? “Indeed, my lord?”
“Beryl admitted to me that it was she who hid the warrant, Dragonlord. She only thought to spare me shame when you found out; we feared you would be able to tell …”
“Tell what?” Linden asked.
Beren’s face turned as red as his hair. “The warrant of regency, my lord. It is a forgery.”
Whatever Linden had expected, it wasn’t this. “But you swore—”
“That I didn’t forge it. I am not forsworn, my lord. I didn’t; my brother Dax did.”
“The prince consort,” Linden said, bewildered at the turn of events. “Why?”
“Dax never trusted Peridaen and his influence over Desia. She was a good queen, but too softhearted about her younger brother. Dax had some kind of evidence proving that Peridaen had dabbled in dark magery; I don’t know what it was. But I believe he spoke the truth about it. So when Dax told me what he’d done, I kept my mouth shut. I didn’t believe Peridaen would really do anything, but I didn’t want to get my twin into trouble.” Beren shrugged. “I still don’t know whether everything that happened was due to Peridaen and his mage, or if some was just coincidence. I don’t think we’ll ever know the whole truth.
“We’re tracking down as many members of the Fraternity as we can, Dragonlord. I don’t know if Alinya told you: Anstella has been exiled for life after confessing as much as she knew—or said that she knew. Neither Alinya nor I have the heart to put her to torture, Your Grace; we felt she’d been punished enough, losing lover and daughter like that. You’d understand if you saw the emptiness in her eyes.”
The duke faced him squarely. “Now that you know the truth, my lord, what do you intend to do?”
Linden said, “Nothing. One of Rann’s parents considered you the best choice for regent and I happen to agree. Besides, who else is there but Alinya? And I am not,” he added with some heat, “sticking my hand into that hornets’ nest again.”
Beren laughed. “Dragonlord, I can’t fault you for that. And may I say, I’m glad you’ve found your soultwin at last.”
Linden looked back to where Maurynna now laughed with Beryl. As if she felt his gaze upon her, she smiled at him, a smile full of happiness.
He smiled in return. “Thank you, Beren,” he said, his eyes still on his soultwin. Smile turned into wide grin. I wonder if she really is as stubborn as I am?
TOR BOOKS BY JOANNE BERTIN
The Last Dragonlord
Dragon and Phoenix
PRAISE FOR THE LAST DRAGONLORD
“The Last Dragonlord by Joanne Bertin features villains who have not lost their humanity, and heroes who are still capable of making mistakes. Court intrigues are entangled with unabashed romance in this fast-paced and satisfying story. The reader gets a sense of the world’s rich history and unique magic.”
—Robin Hobb
“Joanne Bertin’s The Last Dragonlord is fresh and different, a story nobody’s ever told before. The writing is clear and powerful, and the characters appealing. Altogether, I had a wonderful time!”
—Joan D. Vinge
“Action brews constantly at several interstices within the web of characters in this honest and engaging first novel. The flow of action and many layers of intrigue will float readers toward her novel’s hard-fought conclusion.”
—Publishers Weekly
“A convincingly colorful welter of plots and stratagems set forth with confidence and finesse.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“Newcomer Bertin launches a winning fantasy epic. What with political intrigue, romance, bloody menace, and sweeping adventure as well as well-realized characterizations and intricate, believable world building, this is full-bodied fantasy, sure to be a hit with fans of Dickson’s Dragon Knight and McCaffrey’s Pern.”
—Booklist
Here’s a special sneak preview of Joanne Bertin’s next novel, the sequel to The Last Dragonlord …
Dragon and Phoenix
Prologue
Midwinter
Year of the Phoenix 988
Jehanglan
The old dragon stirred as something blazed like a shooting star through his dreams.
Something new. Something … unbelievable.
He drifted toward waking. In all his long life he had never known such a thing and he trembled with joy. The waters of the deep lake above him rippled, echoing his movement.
Then, like a morning mist, it was gone, hidden once more from him.
He sank back into sleep, to dream the centuries away.
Chapter One
Year of the Phoenix 1008
The Harem of the Imperial Palace
Jehanglan
Lura-Sharal was dead.
Shei-Luin bowed her head as her sister’s body was carried away for burning, borne away upon a litter of ebony by four burly eunuchs. A cloth of the imperial gold silk covered the girl’s slight form. What did it matter?
Lura-Sharal was dead.
Shei-Luin knew she should be proud of that mark of the Emperor’s favor. But all she wanted was her elder sister back. What would she do without the wise and gentle words of Lura-Sharal guiding her?
She watched as the litter disappeared through the door. Tears streamed down her cheeks; she wanted to run screaming after it, to hurl herself upon her sister and beg Lura-Sharal to tell her it was but a jest, to hold her, to sing and dance with her once more. To run away and ride the wide open plains again as Zharmatians with Yesuin, their childhood friend.
Ah, Phoenix, if they could all be free once more …
But now Yesuin was a hostage to the uneasy peace between his father’s tribe and the Jehangli.
And Lura-Sharal was dead.
A hand came down with jarring force upon Shei-Luin’s shoulder. She jumped, and looked up to find Lady Gei’s masklike face hovering over her.
“Come,” the lady said. Her voice held no sympathy. “Come; the Phoenix Lord has seen you and grants you the favor of his company. For you are also of the seed of Lord Kirano; it is time to do your duty, girl. At thirteen you are old enough.”
“But I am n—” Shei-Luin broke off. To speak the truth would be to close the path she suddenly saw open before her. Shei-Luin turned her head to hide her slip of the tongue.
The fingers on her shoulder tightened like bands of steel. Empty inside, Shei-Luin went where they led. Eyes filled with jealous hate followed her as she went deeper into the perfumed sanctum of the harem to be made ready.
And afterward …
She bowed her head. But only for an instant; she would not shrink from her fate or from Xiane ma Jhi, Phoenix Lord of the Skies. For she knew a thing that no one else alive now remembered.
She stared straight ahead, her eyes dry now.
Chapter Two
Dragonlords—those who are both human and dragon. They come to Jehanglan. They will bring war to the Phoenix.
So said the rogue Oracle. And the words of an Oracle were truth.
But now his Oracle was dead. She would never See for him again.
Lord Jhanun pondered the prophecy once again. Had he known the girl had a weak heart, he would not have ordered her given such a large dose of the forbidden drugs. But her words had been so tantalizing …
His fingers smoothed the piece of red paper on the desk, discovering its texture, gauging its precise weight. Each piece of sh’jin paper was subtly different. A true disciple revered such individuality.
He made the first fold. “This is a true thing, these—” he hesitated over the uncouth foreign word—“Dragonlords?” He glanced at the man who knelt a few paces before the desk.
“It is, lord. There are a certain few, far to the north
, who are born with the joined souls of dragon and human,” Baisha said.
Fold, crease, fold. “And these weredragons—they are able to change forms as do the weretigers that haunt the mountains?” Jhanun asked.
“Yes, lord. But they may change form whenever they wish, not just at the full moon.”
Jhanun ran one end of his long mustache through his fingers and shuddered. Abomination! He must calm himself, else the paper would sense his disturbance. Fold, fold, a quarter turn of the sheet … “The creature now beneath the mountain—it is not one of these … ?”
“No, lord; it is a northern dragon, else it would have Changed and escaped as a human.”
“I see,” Jhanun said, thinking.
One alone—the Hidden One—means the end of the Phoenix. But four will give you the throne—
A pity the girl died with those words; more would have been useful. How was one more dangerous than four? he wondered. He would get no more; he must gamble with what he had. The crisp red paper hummed as he slid a thumbnail along a crease.
Jhanun said, “The Phoenix must live. You will lure these unnatural creatures to the sacred realm. You know the prophecy; you know what must be done and the best way to do it.”
After all, according to the prophecy, the vile creatures were coming no matter what. He would merely make certain that it would happen in the most advantageous manner—for him.
Turn, fold, crease, fold.
Baisha smiled to the precise degree allowed a favored servant to master. The hands resting on his thighs suddenly turned palm-up. They were empty. Then he pressed them together and brought them up to touch fingertips to forehead. Then he laid them palm-up in his lap once more.
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