The Dragon's Legacy

by Deborah A. Wolf

  Sulema.

  She tucked her staff close to her body and loped down the path, claws digging deep furrows in the rich soil. She could feel atulfah ripple through the twilight sky as Ka Atu searched for his daughter, and closed her mind up tight, though not without regret. If not for her need to protect Sulema from the dangers in Atualon, she and the Dragon King might have faced this enemy together.

  The thick grass gave way to a stand of trees, a bit of the Old Forest. Hafsa Azeina pushed and clawed her way through the thick growth and into a small clearing ringed with jagged crystalline rocks and enormous shaggy mushrooms. A young fennec lay asleep in the middle of the clearing, blood staining her white fur. The dreamshifter pushed through the circle with her staff and opened her waking eyes. The fennec blurred, and for a moment she could see her daughter lying naked and wounded upon the forest floor.

  Sulema wore a headdress as elaborate as that of the First Warrior but all in white, and she was bound from chin to ankle in a spider’s web, thick as the strings on her harp and pulsing with malice. There were other things binding the girl, as well—the blue and gold weavings of her father’s magic, the starlight web of a shadowmancer, the wicked spiny tendrils of a blackthorn vine.

  More bonds than any girl should have to suffer, she thought.

  Fewer than yours by far, Kithren.

  Hafsa Azeina brought her free hand up to her mouth, and bit down hard. Pain and blood welled forth, and with blood upon her lips she called, Belzaleel. And, Belzaleel. And thrice: Belzaleel. She had no breath in this place, but her words made the air tremble, like dark stones dropped into a clear pool. With her third summoning a heavy dagger of dragonglass appeared in her hand and immediately suggested that she might like to stab herself in the leg.

  Stop that, she told him. I have work for you. I must free my daughter from these things that bind her and prevent her from healing.

  What do you have to offer in return?

  Hafsa Azeina brought the blade to her mouth and gave it a bloody kiss. The blade hissed and seemed to shudder in her grasp. Nothing pleased Belzaleel more than the taste of her blood.

  Very well, it agreed. I will give you what you seek… if not what you need.

  Hafsa Azeina wiped her fouled mouth on the back of her hand and waited.

  You cannot cut all these bonds, the blade went on. That would kill her. Some of these need to be left in order to anchor her to your world, and others she needs to cut for herself.

  Which to cut, then? Answer me true, wicked thing, or I will shatter you and leave you to be hunted for the grief you have caused.

  The dagger was silent for a moment, and then it responded.

  The father smooths a path to destruction, but those bonds are not yours to cut.

  The Web of Illindra stretches in both directions farther than the eye can see, farther than even I can see. You may save her if you cut through those, but you may kill her. I would suggest leaving those be, for now.

  The blackthorn bindings must never be severed, not by you, not by her. They bind her to another and those bonds may save you all.

  The Shroud of Eth… cut that. Do it now. Let no part of it touch your skin—to do so is to alert the Huntress to your presence, and you are not ready to face her yet.

  Hafsa Azeina knelt by her daughter’s side, wary of Belzaleel’s sharp edge and fickle nature. As she cut through the Arachnist’s bindings, careful to peel the vile stuff aside with the dagger’s blade, she could not help but think that Sulema looked so alone here, so young and vulnerable. She longed to kiss her daughter, just once, like she had when the girl was very small. When was the last time she had touched her daughter in kindness? The thought was sharper and more dangerous than Belzaleel himself.

  Just once, she thought, what would it hurt? The girl would never know. The temptation became unbearable. She leaned in close and kissed her daughter. As she did so, the girl started to fade. When she was gone, the little white fennec jumped to her feet, barked at her angrily, and ran off into the forest.

  Will it be enough? she asked the blade.

  Perhaps it will be enough. Or perhaps you have failed, and she will die. The blade dissolved with a laugh, and the last bit of black web fell to brush against her hand. A horn sounded, far away: once, twice, three times. She knew the voice of that horn. Its twin rested upon her hip.

  The Hunt was on.

  Khurra’an padded into the clearing. I see you have released the girl. But at what cost, Dreamshifter?

  The price is mine to pay. I will pay it gladly, if it saves my daughter. Tell me, my friend, did you find Ani?

  I did.

  She touched his shoulder. Take me to her.

  They flew.

  They found Ani’s kima’a, a prickle-bear, sleeping too near the Bones of Eth. Hafsa Azeina spat a mouthful of dream-dust over the sleeping spirit, made a circle of her thumb and index finger, and looked through it into the woman’s dream.

  A small child sat on the back of a Dzirani wagon, dangling her feet out the back. A woman was singing nearby. The girl looked up at Hafsa Azeina, frowned, and spoke with Ani’s voice.

  “Balls on a stick, Zeina, you know I hate when you invade my dreams.” The little girl scowled and blinked at her in the green light of Shehannam. “And why do you always show up looking like that?”

  “What are you doing here?” She spoke aloud for her friend’s benefit.

  “That is private. This is private.”

  “Not here in the Dreaming Lands. I mean so close to the Bones of Eth.”

  The dream shifted, and they were standing near the Bones. Ani was a woman again, but Hafsa Azeina was still a monster.

  Ani made a wry face. “Thank you for that. I was enjoying that dream far too much.”

  “What are you doing here?” she asked again.

  “Hannei Ja’Akari and I were sent to chase down a hatching of lionsnake whelps. Turns out that old lionsnake bitch of Sulema’s had a clutch. We got them all, though. How is the girl?”

  “She is alive.” Hafsa Azeina felt Khurra’an’s alarm even as she felt a foreign mind brush hers. “Who else is here with you?”

  “Oh, that must be Inna’hael. He is about here somewhere…”

  Inna’hael! Here? Khurra’an vanished, and the presence of the strange vash’ai winked out as well.

  That was interesting.

  Ani stared at her. “What was that all about?”

  “I do not know, and I have no time to find out. Tell me, Youthmistress, did you find anything at the Bones of Eth besides a lionsnake hatching?”

  “Yes, I did. A knife, a wicked thing with a curved blade of red steel and a golden spider…” As Ani spoke, Hafsa Azeina could feel the wicked thing stirring, as if their words had caught its attention.

  “Ssst! Do not talk about it here! You must bring it to me in Atualon.”

  “That was the plan. Dreamshifter…” She hesitated.

  “Yes?”

  “I do not know whether I should tell you this, but… Hannei lied to me.”

  “Lied? Hannei lied? The girl is ehuani made flesh.”

  “She lied by omission only, and I understand why she did it, but still it struck me as strange.”

  Ani told her of the conversation Hannei had overheard, and of the vash’ai bones, and her own suspicions.

  Hafsa Azeina narrowed her eyes, and the pale sky boiled with clouds.

  “A murdered vash’ai. The knife of an Arachnist. Someone is hunting in my territory, now. Tell me, Youthmistress,” she growled, “who told you to go to the Bones of Eth? Was it the First Warrior?”

  “Sareta? No, she is off taking census with the Ja’Sajani. It was Umm Nurati who sent us.” Then her mouth dropped into an O of dismay as she realized the import of what she had said… and what the dreamshifter would do about it. “Zeina, no. Zeina, no, you cannot do this.”

  Hafsa Azeina raised a furred hand and held up three claws, one by one.

  “Nurati sends a secret envoy to
Ka Atu, and tells him where to find us. Umm Nurati tells the First Warrior of a small lionsnake that needs hunting… only it turns out to be a big old grandmother of a beast, and my daughter is attacked with Araid magics. Now she sends you to the Bones of Eth, and you find an Arachnist’s flensing knife. Three lies speak truth—Umm Nurati has made herself my enemy. She chose this path, not I.”

  Ani’s face was terrible with grief. “Dreamshifter, I beg you… we do not know for sure that any of this was deliberate. Hafsa Azeina, she is pregnant! What of the babe? No. Please, for the love you bear us… she is with child.”

  Hafsa Azeina unhooked the golden shofar from her belt. The shadows at her feet stirred in anticipation. It had been moons since last she had killed, and they were hungry.

  She was hungry.

  “I am sorry, Ani.” It was not wholly a lie. She would rather keep the truth of her dark nature hidden from the one woman who still called her friend. “She should have thought of that before she tried to kill my daughter.”

  It was time to hunt.

  Hafsa Azeina brought the golden ram’s horn to her lips…

  …and blew.

  TWENTY - ONE

  Nurati shifted in her low-backed chair as the babe kicked insistently at her backbone. Once in a while it would hook its wicked fingers into her rib cage and stretch against the confines of its fleshly prison, and pain would dance up and down her spine like a naughty child. She supposed the coffee was not helping, but there was nothing to be done for that.

  You have to sleep sometime.

  She glanced at Paraja, who lay stretched out at her ease upon Nurati’s own silken pillows and churra-down bed. You sleep enough for the both of us. The child kicked again, a direct hit to the bladder this time, and she made a soft noise of irritation. For the three of us.

  Sleep is good for the cub.

  “A living mother is good for the cub.” She spoke aloud, as if releasing words into the air would make it so.

  You fear the dreamshifter.

  You do not?

  Paraja bared her fangs, in mockery or warning. Nurati remembered the day, the glorious day, when she had slipped the golden bands onto the lovely queen’s tusks, and felt for the first time the weight of gold bands on her arms. So long ago.

  Long ago, her queen agreed. We were cubs, chasing butterflies in the sunshine. She rolled over onto her side and stretched so that her long black claws extended to their fullest. You are still a silly cub, and the prey you stalk now is beyond you.

  Nurati took up the quill again, one of the pretty red-and-blue ones made from the feathers of a lionsnake. They had been a gift from the First Warden some years back, and held their shape well. She dipped it into a jar of lovely purple ink and began adding flower-petals along the margins of a page.

  For each of her children she had written and illustrated a story-book, and this child seemed to urge her toward flowers and fancy script. She felt certain that she carried another daughter beneath her heart. Another little girl to dress and to teach and to love. Fat cheeks to kiss. First steps to guide.

  A she-cub, agreed Paraja. Your last?

  Nurati wiped the nib on a soft cloth, and sprinkled sand across the dainty violets.

  I know you are planning something, her queen complained, yet you keep your secrets from me. Are we not one?

  We are one, she agreed. We are Zeeravashani. She blew the sand onto the table, and set the little book down. Nearly done.

  The tip of Paraja’s tail curled up, and then slapped back down.

  “If a neighboring pride threatened your cubs, what would you do?” Nurati asked aloud.

  Paraja flexed her paws again. By tooth and by claw, I would kill them.

  “Just so. This outlander king, this Ka Atu, is a threat to my children. All my children.” She rested a hand on her belly, and leaned back with a sigh. “If he dies without an heir, atulfah runs rampant and we are lost. If he dies with an heir, and this new Atualonian daemon decides to invade the Zeera, we are lost. Our Ja’Akari and Ja’Sajani together can hardly keep the greater predators at bay, much less fend off an attack from the north. I am no warrior. I have neither tooth nor claw. So what is a Mother to do?”

  She opened her sa to Paraja’s touch, and let the cat rummage through her mind. Her thoughts were reflected back to her by the queen. She saw herself as a strong young vash’ai, flagging her tail at a powerful sire.

  “Just so,” she agreed, laughing. “I will take their king as a consort, and he will give me a child. Surely an heir to two thrones is a threat to neither.” Such a child they would make—beautiful and powerful. Powerful enough to shake the world to its very roots.

  There is no throne in the Zeera.

  Nurati smiled. Ages pass. The world changes. There was once a throne in the Zeera, the throne of Zula Din.

  You think to become another Zula Din?

  No. She stroked her taut belly. Not I.

  What of the dreamshifter? What of the dreamshifter’s cub?

  She did not answer. She did not need to.

  You should have stuck to hunting butterflies, Little Sister. There was such sorrow in the thought.

  The child in her belly rolled over again, and then fell into a fit of hiccups that had Nurati gritting her teeth. This was going to be a long night. She picked up the little silver bell that would summon her errand-girl with more coffee.

  * * *

  Long into the night she worked, as the moons rolled across the sky and past her window, as Paraja snored on and the errand-girl slept in the corner. The oil lamp flickered, and her eyes blurred, even as she finished the last line of the last rhyme in her little girl’s first book. Tomorrow she would ask the smiths for gold foil, to brighten the edges of the pages. Tomorrow she would… tomorrow…

  In the end, Paraja was right. She had to sleep sometime.

  The quill slipped from Nurati’s fingers and landed on the rug, staining the pale wool.

  Her head lolled back, and her hand slipped from her belly.

  The lamp spluttered, burned low, spluttered again, burned out.

  Golden eyes burned in the dark, waiting for her.

  A queen hunting butterflies.

  TWENTY - TWO

  Hafsa Azeina had left before dawn, her little apprentice informed Sulema when she went looking for her mother.

  “She cannot rest with so many people nearby. Can I help you, Dreamshifter?”

  “I have a headache. Can you give me more of that tea?” She had ten headaches, and they were having a grand party together inside her skull. “And do not call me that. I am no dreamshifter. I am Ja’Akari.”

  Daru shrugged his bony little shoulders. “As you will. Dreamshifter said no more dragonmint tea yet. It has been only half a day and you are supposed to take no more than one cup every two days. Dreamshifter said—”

  Sulema held up a hand and tried not to scowl, because it was not this child’s fault her mother was the way she was, and because scowling made her headaches worse. “Did she say anything that would be of use to me, Daru? If you cannot give me anything for this headache, I am going to go lie back down and hope to die.”

  The boy pursed his lips and looked at her a little too closely. “Dream—ah… Ja’Akari, are you unable to sleep?”

  “Yes. It has been so noisy since the Atualonians joined us.” In truth, she had not slept at all for quite some time, and it was no fault of her traveling companions. The whispers and grunts and farts of a soldiers’ camp were as much a lullaby to her as the singing dunes. Worse, much worse, was the noise inside her mind. It was as annoying as the ringing ears she had once gotten from a kick to the head, and as inescapable. She was not, however, going to admit this to her mother’s apprentice. She was Ja’Akari, and she would rather die Ja’Akari than live one day as a dreamshifter. “If you cannot help me…”

  “Wait.” Daru bit his lip and looked away. “When there are too many people nearby, Dreamshifter cannot sleep, and she gets headaches. A long walk away
from camp will help. That is why she goes hunting so much.”

  Here I thought she just liked to kill things, Sulema thought, crossing her arms over her chest and scowling despite the headache. “For the last time, I am no Dreamshifter, boy. I just have a headache. I was almost killed by a lionsnake, or had you forgotten?”

  Daru looked her straight in the eye and raised one eyebrow, just as her mother might have. “Even so, Ja’Akari. You did spend time in Shehannam, and that will affect you just as much as a wound to the flesh. Would you have left your arm to heal on its own?”

  Sulema had just been chastised by a child. Worse, she realized he was right, and she had been rude.

  “I am sorry, Daru. I know you are just trying to help.”

  He shrugged again. “I am used to your mother. You do not scare me.”

  “So what do you suggest, O Daru Stout-Heart?” she asked with a smile.

  “Go for a bit of a walk, or better yet, a ride. Being around animals sometimes helps. They are quiet in a way that humans have forgotten. It helps to touch your bare feet against the sand. It helps to be near water, but I have not felt water in days, have you?”

  “No. And that is strange. Ani taught us that there were water-holes all along this road.”

  “That is what I had read too, though I thought maybe I remembered that wrong. No matter. The desert is as calming as flowing water, in her own way. If you ride a way out and sit for a while, just still and quiet, with your eyes closed, that should help. Oh, and wear this.” He reached into his thin tunic and drew forth a large chunk of pinkish rock on a thong, then slipped it over his head and held it out to her. “When it starts to feel heavy, bring it back and I will cleanse it.”

  Sulema hesitated. “What is it? It looks like salt.”

  “It is salt, red and white. It will clean the… oh, just take it, it will help.”