Dragon Blood h-2

by Patricia Briggs

  "Lady," said Beckram.

  "I congratulate you on the upcoming birth of your child, Lord Beckram."

  A glorious smile lit his weary face. "Yes, and I'd give my right arm to be with her now, but I wouldn't sacrifice Ward—no more than Ciarra would let me. My mother's there, and she's devoted to my wife. Ward's troubles aside, we'd have put her in more danger by staying—the king's men won't fool around at Iftahar when they're looking for us." He turned his attention to Lord Duraugh. "Father, we don't have much time. What are we doing?"

  "Stala," said Lord Duraugh, "I've got to leave you here. No sense rescuing the boy and having Hurog overrun while we're about it. How many men do you need?"

  "You've fifty men with you, and we can mount that and fifty more on trained, well-rested horses," Stala said. If she felt any resentment at being left behind, Tisala couldn't see it. "That leaves a hundred here—more than I need. If you'd like, we can pull a few more horses off pasture …"

  "No," said Duraugh. "I don't want to feed and house more than a hundred in Estian anyway. It's too expensive and unnecessary. I need to make a showing, but if the king decides to take us, it wouldn't matter had I twice a hundred."

  "As to expenses," said Tosten, "I know you didn't bring much extra from Iftahar. Hurog can help support this army—I know that Ward has some gold stored away. I'll bring it as well."

  Duraugh nodded. "It would help. I have some banked in Estian, of course, but I wasn't planning on feeding an army there."

  "I'm coming, too," said Tisala. "I know the Asylum and I owe Ward a favor."

  Duraugh hesitated, obviously wondering why Haverness's daughter would know anything about the Asylum. A shrewd look passed over his face. "We'd be delighted to have you."

  That fast he'd made the connection Stala had missed; Tisala could see it in his eyes. Haverness's daughter, with a known sympathy for Alizon's rebellion, could have only one reason to know the Asylum so well: The Asylum had been built to hold the king's brother. In Stala's defense, though, it had long been rumored that Kellen was dead.

  "Good," she said, half surprised that Lord Duraugh's speculations bothered her not at all. Being at Hurog had obviously made her less wary. "I'll stay out of sight in Estian. You don't want the Hurog name tied to that of a known rebel."

  He nodded and turned back to Stala. "Can you get my men settled? They need the rest. We'll start at first light tomorrow—we've that much lead over the king's men."

  In the morning it was Tosten who organized the distribution of fresh horses, while Stala dealt with men and supplies. Tisala helped where she could, saddling horses and running messages. She'd just gotten back from such an errand when Tosten led a sizable liver chestnut mare with a wisp of white on her forehead and handed her the reins.

  Tisala knew that something was up from the expressions on the various faces of the guards around her, but the mare didn't bolt or show any signs of bucking when Tisala lowered herself onto her back.

  "That's Feather," Tosten said, stepping into the saddle of his own fresh mount

  "What's wrong with her?" asked Tisala, indicating the watching crowd with a sweep of her gaze.

  Tosten grinned. "She's Ward's remount—no one else rides her, except our sister, Ciarra, in her wilder days. Don't worry, he'd want you to have her. You'll just have to sit on her a bit to keep her back with the rest of us."

  Tisala was taken aback, knowing how Ward felt about his horses. Had her feelings for Ward been so obvious? She didn't allow anything to cross her face, but she was afraid Tosten saw it anyway. He grinned at her, then rode over to help direct the last few mounts.

  Stala stepped up beside her and put a hand on the chestnut's shoulder. "When this is over," she said quietly, "visit us again. Ward would enjoy sharing Hurog with you."

  Stala grinned suddenly, doubtless at the expression on Tisala's face. "He's recounted to me every blow you struck against the Vorsag and every word you spoke to him. You're not so obvious, but I'm an old woman. I've seen how you touch things that belong to him. Come back."

  Tisala glanced around quickly to make sure no one was listening. "I am older than he by five years, and hardly a beauty to make a man's heart beat faster. He'll do better finding a pretty Shavig maid."

  Stala smiled and stepped away from the horse. "You make his heart beat faster, and five years is less than nothing to a man's soul. Come back."

  The journey to Estian seemed longer than the one Tisala had taken here. Her hand ached in the morning and she was grateful Feather's soft mouth allowed her to use only one hand on the rein.

  By evening they'd ridden by a small trading town and were in the lower hills that marked the barrier between Tallven and Shavig. They camped near a creek that night. To Tisala's relief, they'd left the snow behind in the mountains of Shavig.

  The morning of the second day dawned without a sign of the king's men. Tisala tossed an icy handful of creek water over her face, hoping to wake up. While she was wiping her face, several horses cried out a warning—then it sounded as if every animal in the camp went mad.

  Feather, she thought. Even if she hadn't seen Ward with his horses, the guards' attitude would have made it plain that Feather was precious to him. The last thing Tisala wanted to do was to explain how she'd let the mare get hurt.

  She found Feather at her picket rolling her eyes at the other animals, though not unduly alarmed. The rest of the horses were kicking and fighting as if they were dragon-frighted. Feather'd broken out in a light sweat, but calmed at a few soft words.

  The worst disaster averted, Tisala turned to see what had caused the fuss, expecting to see a bear or even one of the great mountain cats.

  The blood rushed from her head and she swayed against the mare. Dragon-frighted, indeed. There in the midst of their half-packed tents and scrambling men stood a creature that could only be a dragon.

  It was a huge and glittering creature in every shade of blue and violet she'd ever seen. The dark midnight blue on its extremities faded to violet-rose glinting with iridescence like a sea-pearl. The bony structures of its half-furled wings were black and shiny with faint patterns of gold that carried through on the lavender scaled membrane that made up the bulk of the wings. Light purple-blue eyes contrasted the irregular, dark blue scales of its face.

  Tosten stood alone in front of it, his fists clenched as he shouted at it. As soon as Tisala realized that everyone else was fighting horses or scattered too far away to help him, she drew her sword, leaving Feather where she was tied. The dragon's attention was on Tosten, so Tisala advanced at a walk. It hadn't done anything yet and she didn't want to incite it.

  She'd crossed half the distance between them when she heard what Tosten was saying.

  " … not here!" Hot anger threaded his voice, though she hadn't misread the fear on his face. "No one is supposed to know! It's too dangerous: You know what Ward says. There are a hundred people here—someone will talk. Do you want to be hunted by a thousand want-to-be mages who are after your magic?"

  Tisala stopped where she was. This was, it seemed, a private conversation for all that Tosten was shouting at the top of his lungs.

  The dragon's head snaked forward with deadly swiftness and Tosten's hair parted from its breath. Ward's brother paled but held his ground.

  "I'll ride out to meet you as soon as I find my horse," he said. "Which might take a while, thanks to you. Go away."

  The dragon took an enormous breath and huffed it out, twisting its head and glancing at Tisala briefly. Then it heaved itself onto its hind legs and up into the air, vanishing over the edge of a ridge of mountain to the west.

  Tosten turned to her with a look on his face that was almost pleading.

  Before he said anything, Tisala answered that look. "Hurog means dragon." I've seen a dragon, she thought giddily.

  "And when the rest of the world finds out we have one, they'll be camping at Hurog's doorstep waiting for a chance to kill him," said Tosten, running a worried hand through his ha
ir. "Damn it. He knows better than that."

  She nodded. "I'd pass out the word that Ward will be unhappy with anyone who tries to seriously pass around this tale if I were you. Not being a Shavigman myself, I never claim to see dragons."

  Tosten smiled wearily, and she remembered he'd ridden twice as far as Lord Duraugh and his men.

  The runaway horses were caught and rumors flew about what had spooked them. (From what Tisala heard, only a few people had actually seen the dragon—they, like she, had been trying to calm their mounts. Most of them had had significantly more trouble than she'd had.) The cold night with just a hint of frost ensured that everyone was gathered around the small fire where Lord Duraugh's cook was handing out bowls of warm mush.

  Tosten cleared his throat and avoided his uncle's eye. "It surely was a strange windstorm we had this morning."

  "Strange indeed," answered Duraugh solemnly.

  Tisala could tell by the expression on his face that Tosten had not thought his uncle would say anything. Tosten had known about the dragon, thought Tisala, watching their faces, but his uncle and cousin hadn't until this morning. Hurog blue eyes met in a soundless argument, Tosten pleading for time. It occurred to Tisala that the dragon had had Hurog-blue eyes as well—just like Oreg, who'd gone to watch out for Ward.

  "Frighted the horses but good," said Beckram. "I dare say that a storyteller would make up something about a great monster who scared the horses—but that might make it harder for us to get the Hurogmeten out of the Asylum. These lowlanders are greedy for things they don't understand; they might think that Ward had something to do with a mythical beast."

  Tosten gave his cousin a grateful look.

  Lord Duraugh glanced about at his own men. "I would be very unhappy if a rumor were to make it more difficult to free my nephew. Very unhappy." He sounded it, too.

  "What windstorm?" said one of the Blue Guard, a man named Soren. "It was Bethem's snoring that startled the horses."

  Bethem, whom Tisala knew as one of the best swordsmen in the Guard, spit on the ground. " 'Twas naught but your wife—she's scared the hides off braver animals than our horses."

  "It was a giant sea turtle a hundred feet long, blowing flame from his nose," said another man. "Would have ate us all, but for Bethem's snoring. It thought he were another giant turtle, even larger and more ferocious, so the monster turned and fled back into the sea."

  After a while the camp settled into a more normal atmosphere. The men cleaned their dishes and packed camp, saying nothing more about the incident, but there was a subtle, understated glee in their faces as they worked. Dragons, said each cheerful whistle, each blithe look, were a good thing for Hurogs.

  Tisala finished her packing and walked to where Tosten was huddled with his uncle and cousin.

  "We're ready to ride," she said.

  Lord Duraugh looked at her, and with the air of a man ending an argument said, "I'll get them started. Tosten and Beckram have an errand to run, and I'd like you to go with them."

  "But—" said Tosten.

  "She already knows enough to ruin us if she wants to. If he came for the reason we all think he did, she might be able to help him. Now go, before he gets impatient and creates another incident."

  Tosten and Beckram mounted without another word. Tosten set out away from camp at a trot, not looking to see if Beckram and Tisala were following him.

  As soon as they were out of sight of the camp, Ward's wizard, Oreg, stepped out of the trees.

  "I've bad news," he said.

  Tisala looked into his eyes, which were purple-blue, just as Tosten and his uncle's were. Just as the dragon's had been. And her speculation solidified—somehow Oreg and the dragon were one.

  "It must be important," said Beckram, sounding not at all like his normal self. His horse shifted uneasily, looking for whatever had disturbed its rider. "What happened?"

  "I'm sorry," said Oreg, looking from Tosten to Beckram. This was not the reserved, somewhat intimidating man Tisala knew from Hurog. This man was shaken and worried—and was apologizing for appearing in the middle of the camp in the guise of a dragon.

  Not a guise, she thought, remembering Tosten's reaction. Oreg was a dragon. A dragon who was supposed to be watching over Ward.

  Tisala dismounted and gave a huff of disgust at the two Hurogs and the wizard. "Oreg, you have just shown me the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life, but if you don't tell us what happened to Ward, I'll kill you myself."

  Oreg raised both hands from his sides and said simply, "I can't find him. He was there when I went to sleep last night, but when I tried to find him this morning, he was gone. Their camp was pulled up and their tracks lead to the city. I checked out the Asylum and the king's castle, but I couldn't find him. I can feel him but I don't know where he is. I always know where Ward is."

  "The king had his wizards build a place in the Asylum to contain mages. Could something like that keep you from finding Ward?" asked Tisala.

  Oreg stared at her for a moment. "It might."

  "The king said he was taking Ward to the Asylum," she said. "We have no real reason to doubt that. When we get to Estian, I know people who can get me in so I can look for him."

  "He's frightened," said Oreg, his eyes almost blank. "I can feel his fear. He doesn't scare easily."

  "All the more reason to believe he's at the Asylum. We'll find him," she promised. She glanced at Tosten and Beckram. "Let's get going. The sooner we get to Estian, the sooner we get Ward."

  "You all have the wrong idea," said Tisala to Tosten, who had taken up a post by her side for the day.

  "What's that?" he asked.

  "I am not now, nor ever will be Ward's woman." It was baldly put, but Tisala didn't know any other way to fight the assumptions that Ward's people were making. Riding Ward's mare was only adding to the problem.

  "Hmm," replied Tosten gravely, though a faint smile tilted the corner of his mouth up. "You don't like my brother?"

  She didn't know how to answer that without lying or giving the wrong impression, so she closed her calves against Feather's sides and the big mare increased her pace and left Tosten behind.

  He waited the better part of an hour before approaching her again.

  "I don't know how much you've heard about my father," he said when they were close enough for conversation. "But, being an Oranstonian, you've probably heard the worst of it. Ward, when he speaks of him, will tell you that he was mad. But I've always believed he was evil."

  He stopped there and rode with her until she thought he'd said all he'd intended. At last he continued, "When I was a boy, we had a kitchen maid, the daughter of one of the stablemen, whom everyone was in love with. I was thirteen and thought she was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. It was more than her face and form—though those were remarkable—it was … joy, I suppose is the right word, though happiness would work as well." Tosten gently dissuaded his gelding from snatching a bite of grass. "I don't think that she and Ward were lovers until the night my father tried to rape her."

  "Ward stopped him?" she asked.

  "I used to think it was Stala," he replied. "But I've thought about it since, and I think Ward sent Stala there. The maid was carrying trays from my mother's rooms when my father walked by her. I was hiding from him—under a piece of furniture in the hall—and when he stopped I thought he'd found me, at least until she screamed.

  "She fought him hard—and he let her. If he'd wanted to, he could have stopped her struggles easily. He was almost as big as Ward is." Tosten stopped speaking again.

  They ate lunch in the saddle and Tisala made no move to push him. When Tosten resumed his story, he did it as if there had been no break in their conversation.

  "My aunt Stala came in running." Tosten closed his eyes. "I think she heard the screams. No one else in the keep would have gone to rescue a woman trapped by my father. Stala knocked him away from the maid, then slapped her, I think, because the screams stopped. I couldn't tell, s
ince my view was limited by the hall table I was hidden under.

  "Stala helped the maid up and sent her to my brother's rooms." Tosten let out a huff of air that might have been a laugh. "I think now, that night was the first she spent in my brother's bed. But at the time I felt truly betrayed: by my own inability to face my father down and rescue the maiden, and by my brother's relationship to the woman I, a thirteen-year-old, thought I was in love with. I couldn't deal with my own shortcomings, so I blamed them all on Ward. I listened to Stala and my father fight—both verbally and physically and then have sex in the hall—and I thought about the maid and my brother doing the same thing and I hated them all."

  There was a smile on Tosten's face when he turned to look at Tisala, but his eyes were flat. "So when the castle laughed at my stupid brother's devotion to his little serving maid, I laughed, too. He followed her around all day at her chores, carrying the laundry baskets or the serving trays for her, and at night she slept in his bed."

  Tisala didn't want to think of anyone sharing Ward's bed, but she set the feeling aside and listened to the story.

  "Ward would have been about fifteen or sixteen during that time, and already a big man. My father had begun to avoid him—I think he was afraid of what Ward could do. So he did nothing about my brother's unseemly devotion, which went on for a little over a year before she married someone else."

  Tosten's breathing was erratic, and Tisala could tell that this story was not without cost. "One day I walked by my brother's room and stopped because the door swung open by itself. Hurog was haunted, so it wasn't that uncommon to have doors move on their own. I wasn't frightened until I heard Ward crying. He would have married her, I think, if she'd have had him. But she knew her place, if he didn't. She left for Tyrfannig and a marriage with a merchant her father knew." Tosten rubbed his gelding's neck. "She had a miscarriage a few weeks later—the day I heard Ward in his room. I think it was Ward's child. I wish I'd gone to him when I heard him crying instead of closing the door.