Bard's Oath (Dragonlord)

by Joanne Bertin

  Songs. The thought brought him back to the matter at hand; what if this Yerrin was the one spoken of in that damned song, the one about some Dragonlords and their journey to Jehanglan? He’d not heard it for a while—he preferred ballads about old wars or rollicking ditties in praise of fast horses—but he seemed to recall that the bard who wrote the song and some kinsman were chosen by Llysanyins. If Tirael’s “peasant” was the kinsman …

  Pray all the gods he was not. But even if he was an impostor, it would still be no help. The gold for the all-important stud fees would go to him and by the time anyone was the wiser, he would be long gone, lost among the craggy hills and mountains of northern Yerrih.

  Therinn took a deep breath. If he didn’t get that money … Then inspiration hit. “Listen to me, Tir—listen well. There are some Shamreen draft horses here at the fair, aren’t there? And you’ve already said you think that damned horse is a Shamreen, yes? So now I want you and your friends to spread it everywhere that you’ve heard the horse is nothing but a particularly fine Shamreen whose owner thought he’d separate some fools from their purses.”

  For a long moment Tirael didn’t say anything. He licked his lips, then asked eagerly, “Do you think it really isn’t one? A Llysanyin, I mean.”

  He sounded so like a frightened child asking to be reassured that Therinn frowned in surprise. This was so different from Tirael’s usual arrogant manner that if he hadn’t heard it with his own ears, he wouldn’t have believed it.

  “Of course the damned horse isn’t,” he snapped. He had to believe that; he had to, or else he might as well just give Summer Lightning over to that cursed Assantikkan princeling visiting the Kelnethi court. Yes, he’d been grateful that the man was willing to lend him that much gold on just his word and a single horse for surety; but he’d known he’d could get the money back.

  Yet if this horse truly was a Llysanyin … Therinn slammed the door on the thought even as it tried to creep into his mind. The thing was a plow horse, nothing more; an uncommonly handsome plow horse if Dunly was to be believed, but no more than that.

  “Now go,” he said. “Get to work.”

  * * *

  Maurynna slipped into the tent as quietly as she could. It was late and she didn’t want to wake Linden.

  She didn’t. He was still awake, sitting in one of the camp chairs, a book open in his lap and a ball of coldfire hovering over the pages.

  “How’s Kella?” he asked as he shut the book and set it aside.

  “I swear by the gods, the further we got from Balyaranna, the better she felt.” Maurynna sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled her boots off with a sigh of relief. “It was the damndest thing and I still don’t understand it.”

  “So she’s not ill? And she never said if something had … happened to her?”

  She saw his fists clench and knew what he was thinking. “No—and if someone had done anything to her, you would have had to get in line to hurt him. I’d claim kin-right by blood.”

  “I’d just make you promise to leave something for me,” Linden said lightly, but his eyes were hard. “What could have happened, then?”

  “I’ve no more idea of that than a fish has of reefing a sail.” Elbows resting on knees, she frowned at her stocking feet planted squarely upon the Assantikkan rug by the side of the bed. “By the time I gave her into her mother’s arms—and Aunt Elenna was over her fright and done fussing over Kella—she was her old self again.”

  A memory came back to her; a quick-caught glimpse of a shadowed look in Kella’s eyes.… Maurynna amended her words. “Almost herself, that is.”

  “Almost?”

  She looked up at her soultwin. “It’s the oddest thing, Linden. It was as if Kella was running away from someone and was finally far enough away to feel safe—yet then she’d think she’d, I don’t know, heard him.”

  Linden came over and sat beside her. “Why do you think she ‘heard’ someone?” He began rubbing the back of her neck.

  “I don’t know. It was just an impression I got. Likely it was just my imagination.”

  “Likely not. When I was a mercenary, I learned that impressions like that were more often than not right. It’s as if your mind notices details and warns you of something, but doesn’t tell you why.”

  “Like a bad storyteller, hmm?” Maurynna said with a little laugh. “Very well, then: say my impression was right and Kella did ‘hear’ something—or someone.

  “The question, then, is … what did she hear?”

  Thirty-four

  But whatever Fiarin had planned for the next day, it didn’t happen, though he woke them before it was barely light. Instead he repeated his odd behavior, walking down to the esker, staring across it, then returning to camp. He said not a word to the girls; it was as if he didn’t see them.

  Not knowing what else to do, Pod and Kaeliss busied themselves around the camp or made forays into the nearby woods to look for herbs on their own. Pod found a good-sized bed of healmoss and Kaeliss came upon a patch of wild ginger. The finds cheered them immensely. And when Kiga brought back a rabbit for supper, they could almost pretend that nothing was wrong. At least, as long as Fiarin stayed away.…

  Pod remembered something she’d been meaning to ask Kaeliss when they were alone. As she skinned the rabbit, she said, “Kaeliss, who is Master Emberlin, and why does he need King’s Blood? Flarin mentioned his name that one time, but I’ve no idea who he is.”

  Kaeliss looked up in surprise as she sliced a tiny bit of their wild ginger into the pot of water heating over the fire. “You don’t—oh, of course you don’t. I forget sometimes that you’re not a Wortie like me.” She finished her task and dusted her hands on her breeches. “Master Emberlin is one of our most accomplished Simplers, the men and women who blend various healing herbs. He’s brilliant, really, and his medicines work wonders. I swear he must have a ‘little magic’ for it, he’s so good at it even though he’s but a young man.

  “But even though he’s so young, he’s also very ill. Even the Healers can’t help—or not very much. From what I’ve heard, the only thing keeping him alive is regular doses of—oh gods! The fire at White River chapterhouse! We might have lost most of our supply of King’s Blood, and this winter is the third year of the lung sickness!”

  Pod, confused, asked, “Third year?”

  “Every winter there are always a few cases of the lung sickness. But now and again, it goes in a cycle: first year more serious cases and more deaths than usual; the second year, it gets worse. I’ve heard the masters saying that we’re in another cycle, and this past winter was the second one.…

  “Pod, if we don’t have enough King’s Blood, the lung sickness will be as a plague this year. It doesn’t take much King’s Blood to cure it, but if you don’t have it to give to people…” She was near tears now. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  They ate their meal in silence and tidied the camp, waiting for Fiarin to return.

  Finally, Kaeliss shook her head. “I can’t stay up any longer. I’m too tired.”

  With that, she climbed into her blankets. Pod pulled her own blankets around herself. They lay near the fire, not speaking and fell asleep waiting for Fiarin to return.

  When she awoke the next morning, Pod was stiff and sore. She sat up slowly and massaged her calves and feet.

  Owwwww—why does it always hurt worst the day after the day after? she complained to herself. Before, when they’d spent each day walking, her muscles hadn’t had time to stiffen up. Now they had—with a vengeance.

  Looking around, she saw Kaeliss was still asleep but Kiga was gone; hunting, no doubt. Pod hoped he brought back another rabbit. She was tired of dried meat; though last night’s rabbit had been old and rather tough, it had made a welcome change.

  The thought of the Wort Hunter made Pod realize something: It was full light. She squinted at the sky. It was, she guessed, some four or five candlemarks after dawn. Had Fiarin overslept as well? T
hank the gods!

  No—his blankets were empty. So he was awake—or had never gone to bed. But where was he? And why hadn’t he gotten them up? He’d been an absolute bear about that. Was he hurt?

  Pod staggered to her feet with a groan. She’d better find him as soon as she could. But where to look first?

  Then she remembered his fascination with the esker that separated the two big lakes. She’d try there first. If he wasn’t there, she’d call Kiga and see if he could follow Fiarin’s scent.

  There was no need to call her familiar. Fiarin stood at the edge of the esker, staring at the far end. Pod stayed within the shadow of the trees and watched him.

  Every line of his body shouted of tension, of fear, of longing. He would step forward—then stop. His fists clenched and unclenched. It was as clear as the sun in the sky that though Fiarin wanted to cross the esker before him, something held him back.

  Pod shook her head. She still had no idea what all this was about, but there was nothing she could do right now. It was back to the camp for her until the time was right. She also wanted to rest while she could before Fiarin dragged them off on another mad trek.

  A long while later, Fiarin returned to camp. Kiga was back, Kaeliss was up, their packs and bedrolls were ready, and they’d broken their fast though Pod was disappointed that there was no fresh meat.

  Which was just as well, for Fiarin knelt to roll up his blankets, saying, “We’re moving on. Hurry—there’s a swampy area I want to get through before dark.”

  “Where are we going?” Kaeliss asked, her voice shaking.

  At first Pod thought he hadn’t heard her as he worked. Then he said softly, “Never you mind where, girl. Never you mind. Just know that it will make your name in the Guild.”

  Something in his voice sent prickles of unease down Pod’s back. Taking a deep breath, she said, “That’s not good enough. What is all this about? You haven’t shown us anything in days. And we’re well past the time we should have gone back, aren’t we?”

  Fiarin surged to his feet, his face dull red with anger and his fists clenched. But before he could take a single step toward her, Kiga was between her and the furious Wort Hunter, just as she’d known would happen. The woods dog snarled, daring the tall man to strike his person.

  Fiarin stopped short. He stared down at Kiga for a long moment, then slowly and carefully stepped back. He took first one deep breath, then another. Then came the last thing that Pod had expected: the Wort Hunter grinned wryly.

  “Well played, young Pod. I suppose I have been, ah, rather mysterious of late, haven’t I?”

  Pod just nodded; it didn’t seem to be right to add And a damned bastard to boot. Conor always said it wasn’t fair to kick a man when he was beaten.

  “Well and well, then, girls—this is the truth of it. According to some old, ah, records I’ve studied, somewhere near here is a patch of King’s Blood. A very large patch.”

  Pod heard a gasp behind her; Kaeliss was beside her an instant later.

  “Truly?” the apprentice Wort Hunter said avidly.

  “Truly. And think of this, young Kaeliss: That description is years old. So all this time that patch had had time to spread … and spread.”

  He ran his hands through his hair. “Pod, you won’t understand this, but Kaeliss will. As I said before, this will make your name—both your names, actually—in the guild. King’s Blood is one of rarest and most valuable plants a Wort Hunter can find. It grows in so few places and helps so many illnesses, and…” He faltered to a stop.

  Pod eyed him. There was more to this; there had to be. Surely a man so senior in his guild wouldn’t risk his standing within it lightly. “This isn’t just about gaining prestige within your guild, is it?” she asked. “Or beating out Currin?”

  Fiarin actually laughed at that. “No, though the thought of Currin besting me at our game does rankle. Nor is it about prestige. Over the years I’ve already earned the respect of my fellows. Yes, I do risk my rank and will most certainly be punished, but I think my hope is worth it.”

  Kaeliss nodded. “You’re thinking of Master Emberlin, aren’t you?” she said softly.

  “Just so. The guild can’t afford to lose him, Kaeliss. Young as he is, he’s already accomplished so much. Can you imagine what he could do if he has the years he should have ahead of him?”

  “The King’s Blood that Currin found—it’s not enough?” Pod asked.

  “No,” Fiarin said. He sighed. “Not when we’re certain that when the lung sickness returns, it will be even worse than it was this past winter. Our supply of King’s Blood was low then. If what you heard about the fire destroying that storeroom is right, this winter … Oh gods, this winter will be devastating.

  “Emberlin has always refused to take more King’s Blood than is enough to keep the thing that’s eating him at bay. He knows that many lives could be saved with the amount he’d need to cure him. Now he might refuse to take any at all. But if we had enough…”

  He looked at Kaeliss. “You will not face punishment. When we get back, I’ll tell the guild elders that neither of you had any idea of what I’d planned. It’s naught but the truth, and when we find the King’s Blood, it will be share and share alike.”

  Kaeliss said slowly, “You’d share equally with us?”

  “I’d already been planning to—it would be the only fair thing after I’ve made such a mess of your training. The two of you will have missed most of your treks by the time we get back. But I promise you that it will be worth it. Are you with me?”

  Kaeliss crowed “Yes!” and caught up her pack and bedroll.

  Pod wasn’t as certain, but what could she do? She had no idea how to find her way back. And if this plant was so useful, and next winter’s lung sickness as bad as Kaeliss and Fiarin feared it would be, surely it was a good thing to find a lot of King’s Blood, right? So she nodded and swung her own pack and blanket roll onto her back. She had no choice but to go on.

  Thirty-five

  As they were on their way to Yarrow and Raven’s camp to share ale and news, Linden, Maurynna, and Shima crossed paths with Conor as he walked through the fair. The Beast Healer had his familiar cuddled upside down in his arms and tickled her stomach as he walked. Trouble “chuckled” when she saw Linden.

  “Hoy there, Conor! Well met again,” Linden called.

  Conor grinned. “Well met indeed.” He bowed carefully to Maurynna and Shima; Trouble scolded him anyway for bouncing her about.

  After he made the introductions, Linden said, “You seem lighthearted. Any particular reason?”

  Conor laughed. “Do I now? Well-a-well, I’m guessing that still having all my fingers and such would account for that.”

  “Ahhh. Been to see Summer Lightning again, have you?”

  “That I have. He’s in fine fettle if foul temper.” Conor shook his head. “Sad, it is. Just sad.”

  I agree, Linden said in Conor’s mind, using mindspeech because he didn’t want the next part to be overhead by any fairgoers. And I’m afraid I have to agree with Sevrynel. When it became clear he was that vicious, Summer Lightning should have been put down. At the very least, he should have been gelded. Aloud he went on, “We’re on our way to visit friends. Are you free?”

  “I’m on duty now at the guild’s tent. I was just on my way back.”

  “Then I hope we’ll have a chance to see you again.”

  “The three of you are to marshal the Queen’s Chase, yes? Then we’ll likely cross paths there.” He bowed once more. “A fine day to you, Dragonlords—and Linden,” he added with a cheeky grin and a wave.

  The Dragonlords set off once more. As the camp came into view, Maurynna asked, “Was that the old friend from the other day? I’d meant to ask you how you met him.”

  “It was. Let’s get everyone settled with a tankard of ale and I’ll tell you the tale of Conor and Pod.”

  The Llysanyins greeted each other happily and went off to one end of the horse lines
where they stood in a circle, heads together.

  “Look like a bunch of old grannies settling in for a good gossip, don’t they?” Yarrow whispered as she led the way into the common tent. “Sit down, sit down.” She waved a hand at the trestle table in the center. The grooms and handlers grinned at them and cleared the table of the remnants of their meal.

  Tankards of ale and a platter of cold chicken and vegetables appeared like magic before them even before they’d seated themselves on the benches.

  “Where’s Raven?” Shima asked.

  “With his friend Lord Ar—make a liar of me, lad!” she said as Raven ducked into the tent.

  He grabbed a tankard of ale and joined them at the table. “Gods, but it’s good to see friendly faces!” He took a long pull of his ale.

  Yarrow asked sharply, “What’s wrong?”

  “What else? I ran into dear Lord Tirael.”

  Maurynna made a rude noise of dismissal. “That spoiled brat? My sympathies.”

  Linden nodded. Maurynna had told him of Raven’s wager—a foolish one in his opinion; even a Llysanyin could go lame—her own encounter with Tirael, and finally of how that spoiled young lord managed to squirm out of paying if he lost the race with Raven. He rarely made judgments of someone before he met them; this Tirael would be an exception for which he would feel no guilt. “What happened?”

  “Arisyn and I had just parted ways when I ran into Lord Tirael and a few of his hangers-on. Even for him he was in a foul temper and I think I know why. Gossip around the fair has it there’s a young woman he’d decided was the one for him, but she had the good sense to send him packing, though no one seems to know just who she is—or else they’re not saying. Now she’s turned up at the fair and is being courted by someone else, someone who’s succeeding where Tirael failed. And I get the feeling that her suitor is someone that would set Tirael off something fierce. It seems if there’s one thing our dear Lord Tirael can’t stand, it’s losing.”