The Dragon's Legacy

by Deborah A. Wolf

  A triangular head no bigger than a man’s thumb peeked out from behind the loremaster’s ear at the word “mantid,” and cheeped hopefully. Rothfaust handed a tidbit to his little pet. If Leviathus did not know the loremaster better, he would have said the man was stalling.

  “Well, speak up,” urged Mattu, cracking a pomegranate open so that the juices ran down his forearms like blood. “You have so many words, surely you can spare a few for us.”

  Leviathus leaned forward, forearms on the table. “Loremaster Rothfaust,” he asked, “in all your readings, have you found mention of such a thing as the failure of magic? Has such a thing happened before in the history of Atualon?”

  “I have found mention of such occurrences in one book. Only one book,” he held his hand up as if he would apologize, “but it describes our situation exactly. Blood magic, water magic, salt and song, all seemed to lose their strength. Like the weakness in the limbs of a sickly child.”

  Leviathus heard Daru’s sharply indrawn breath, but a quick glance at the boy’s face showed nothing. Loremaster Rothfaust was not an unkind man. Why would he say such a thing?

  “No, no,” the loremaster mused, stroking his beard with one hand, and gesturing with his wine cup with the other. “Not a weakness, precisely, not an illness… a flicker. Like a torch in an airless chamber. The flicker of light before it goes out completely, and leaves you in darkness.”

  There was a second moment of silence. Two in one council meeting—that itself was probably a historical moment.

  “What book?” Aasah asked. He leaned forward, eyes like blue fire in their intensity. “What book, what scroll, describes these things?”

  Rothfaust was silent.

  Leviathus put his hands on the table before him and leaned forward. “What book, Loremaster?”

  “The Dragon Cycle.”

  “Heresy!” spluttered Ezio. “Rubbish! Nonsense! That book does not even exist!”

  “Bad science!” Santorus roared. He looked as if he might fall victim to an apoplexy. “Bad science!”

  “The Dragon Cycle,” Mattu repeated. “You are telling us that you believe these things are happening because the dragon is preparing to wake after a thousand years trapped in slumber? Is this your claim?” He leaned back and took a careful sip of wine. “If this is the case, I suppose we should take emergency measures to prevent that from happening. Pray tell us, Master Rothfaust, how exactly does one convince a dragon not to wake?”

  Yells of “Bad science!” and “Preposterous!” shook the chamber walls.

  “I am telling you that the only book I have found which refers to such a pattern of events is The Dragon Cycle,” Rothfaust replied, unperturbed. “That does not mean you need to make an ass of yourself, Mattu Halfmask.”

  Ezio choked on his wine, and the master healer pounded him on the back. Daru was as still as a mouse in a room full of cats.

  “Patreons, please,” Leviathus held up both hands. “Let us hear the loremaster out.”

  Rothfaust shrugged. “I am telling you what a book says. What the words say, and the stories, and the songs. Something is happening in this world, do you not feel it? Do you not hear it? The magics are failing. Women and infants die in childbirth, our crops fail, and our fishing fleets return with empty nets—when they return at all. The daeborn gather in numbers greater than at any time since Davvus, and someone has been calling up bonelords in the desert. I have heard on three separate occasions that the Great Hunt has been seen in the east—”

  “The Great Hunt! Bonelords and dragons!” Santorus threw his hands up in the air. “Rumors and stories and myths! We are trying to govern a kingdom, and you bring us children’s stories, Loremaster.”

  “All truth is found in stories,” Rothfaust insisted. “Where else?”

  Leviathus was too tired to watch old men hurl wine-cups and insults. He brought his own cup down upon the table, harder than he had intended. A small chip flew off the stem and flicked against his cheek, narrowly missing an eye.

  “Masters,” he said, “Patreons. Esteemed shadowmancer. I have been riding a long while, and I am weary. We have a great deal to discuss, but perhaps some other time?” He softened the tone with his best and most disarming smile. “I would dearly love a bath and a bed. Let us take a while to ponder these things, and perhaps our loremaster may pursue this line of research further.” Rothfaust nodded.

  “Excellent,” Leviathus concluded. “I can assure you, I will take these concerns directly to my father… once I have seen the baths.”

  Mattu coughed discreetly. “Perhaps not tonight, ne Atu? I believe your father is entertaining company at the moment.”

  Leviathus frowned. Mattu made it sound as if his father was…

  Oh.

  Oh.

  The last rays of sun filtered in through the dragonglass columns, lighting the room with sparks of gold and bronze. The silk lanterns from Khanbul glowed softly as Akari Sun Dragon plunged into the sea in search of his long-lost love, and behind him, the fireplace roared to life. Leviathus stood, smothering a yawn, and the patreons rose with him.

  “Very good, then, let us adjourn, and continue these discussions another time.” The servants filed in and began removing the foodstuffs. Leviathus kept a genial smile on his face as the rest of the Third Circle—having been rather abruptly dismissed—rose, bowed to their prince, and left the chamber.

  All of them, that is, except Mattu Halfmask. He remained behind, even as the servants brought in rags and buckets and began scrubbing the stone table.

  “Might I beg a moment of your time?” he asked. “A new troupe of fools has just rolled in to one of my establishments, and I think you would find their tale most… illuminating.”

  Leviathus was too tired to play his cousin’s games. “Later, perhaps.”

  Mattu stepped close, so close that Leviathus’s sword hand twitched. “Ne Atu. You really need to see this. Come with me.” He glanced down at Daru, and gave a mocking little bow. “Do bring your guest. I am sure this will be of interest to his mistress, as well.”

  “Halfmask…”

  Mattu reached for the hilt of his sword, and drew…

  Leviathus drew as well—and found himself guarding against a bright spray of silk flowers. Mattu laughed and tossed the bouquet to Daru, who plucked it neatly from the air.

  “Oh, come along now. I mean you no harm, O favored son. My sister adores you, for whatever reason, and I would show my true face before I ever caused her a moment’s sorrow. Besides,” he winked at Daru, who stared solemnly over the flowers, “I would never harm a child. Shall we?” He turned and walked from the room, whistling. After a moment’s hesitation, Leviathus sheathed his sword and followed, with Daru at his heels and the Draiksguard close behind.

  * * *

  They left the palace through a low door most commonly used by merchants and kitchen-lads. Mattu drew his hood up so that only his mask peered out, but Leviathus left his face bare.

  They walked quickly down an alley between two rows of well-appointed merchants’ houses. The bright light spilling from colored-glass windows onto pale cobblestones gave their path a merry look. It was time for a late supper, and the smells of roasting pig and fish stew—and of some lemony dish from one house— reminded Leviathus that one light meal after months’ worth of travel was not a sufficient homecoming.

  He knew this alley well, had spent many an evening with friends in these elite establishments. Mattu led the way up some stairs and into a well-lit bathhouse. The guards who had followed them remained in the street.

  “I did not need to come this far for a bath,” he grumbled. “I do have a tub in my rooms.”

  “And a girl waiting to help you,” Mattu agreed as he held the door open with a mocking flourish. “I know, I sent her there myself. I must warn you, though, Ginna is a spy in my sister’s employ. Why do you think I am so close with my own… business?” He let the heavy doors bang shut behind them. “I have given my staff each a copper
and the night off, save old Douwa. At her age she has no more need of coppers than she has of gossip.” He laughed.

  They shed their clothing. Leviathus threw Daru a towel, which he wrapped about himself with a grateful look, and they walked down the steps, through the proud enameled columns, and into a blinding cloud of steam.

  Leviathus tensed, half expecting an attack as Mattu led them around the pit of steaming rocks and toward the figures seated on the wooden benches at the far side of the room. As they stepped closer, and the figures resolved themselves through the fragrant steam, he stopped dead in his tracks. He did not recognize the youth with the salt-clan tattoos, though the boy seemed familiar, and neither did he know the older Zeerani man, but he knew the woman who sat between them. Knew her, and could not imagine the reason for her presence.

  “Istaza Ani.” He bowed, nonplussed. “I had not expected to find you here.” Nor had he expected to see her naked. For all her years, the woman had a startlingly fine figure, lean and muscled and curved like a girl’s. He tried not to stare.

  “Impressive.” The youthmistress smirked at him. “Your scar, I mean. A man is so much more attractive once he has a few marks on his hide, do you not agree, Askander?” The middle-aged man beside her, lean and scarred as an old stallion, snorted a laugh without ever opening his eyes.

  “A reminder never to get too close to a sea-bear.” Leviathus resisted the urge to touch the ugly marks that nearly bisected his torso, and took the bench farthest from the Zeeranim. “I had thought you were to remain behind.”

  “That was the plan,” she agreed. “Plans change.”

  “Istaza Ani.” Daru chose to sit with the desert folk. “Sulema has woken. She is weak and tired… but the Dragon King has agreed to heal her.”

  Istaza Ani smiled at the boy. “I had heard, thank you, Daru.”

  “Will you tell us now why you have come?” Mattu Halfmask asked. The sweat beaded in his hair and dripped down his mask, causing it to look as if the crocodile shed tears. “I am pleased that you sought me out in the market, but I am afraid I cannot bear the suspense a moment longer.”

  The older Zeerani man—Askander—opened his eyes then, and gave Mattu a look like a hawk sizing up its prey. Istaza Ani placed a hand on the man’s thigh. She glanced at the salt youth, and at the half-masked man, and then shrugged and reached for a bundle of leather at her side.

  “I found this in the Bones of Eth, at the very site where Sulema was… wounded. I had thought to bring it to Hafsa Azeina, but the idiots at the gate would not let me see her and I thought it might be rude to kill them.”

  “One does not simply walk into Atukos and demand to speak with the queen consort.” Mattu laughed.

  “Ha. She squats in the sand just like any woman. I would know.” Ani unwrapped the bundle. “She would not thank me if I turned back without first giving her this.”

  The cloth fell away to reveal a blade, a wicked thing made for a wicked purpose. Red as blood, carved all over with tiny human skulls, it had a golden spider at one end and a blade meant for stripping hide from flesh at the other.

  Mattu grimaced to look upon it. The salt-clan lad reacted even more strongly, scuttling away from it as from a scorpion exposed to the sunlight, mouth open and eyes wide and white as boiled eggs.

  “Interesting.” Leviathus leaned in, though wary of touching the fell thing. “A nasty-looking weapon. You say you found this in the bones of something? Where that lionsnake attacked Sulema? I am afraid I do not see a connection.”

  “The Bones of Eth,” murmured Mattu Halfmask. He stared at the knife. “A place of ill reputation, to be sure. May I?”

  Ani hesitated, and then placed the thing upon his outstretched hands, wrappings and all.

  “I would not touch it, if I were you. It feels… wrong.”

  “I have no intention of touching it.” Mattu handled the knife as if it were a venomous snake, and very much alive. “Exquisite craftsmanship. It turns the stomach, to be sure, but it is beautifully made. Look here, you can see tiny hairs on the spider’s legs, as if it had been crawling about one day and then poof! Turned to gold. And the eyes.” He turned the blade, careful not to let it brush his skin. “The eyes seem to follow you. I do not think I would sleep well with this in my bedchamber.” He returned it with a shudder. “Horrible thing.”

  “It is horrible,” the youthmistress agreed, “but do you know what it is? What it is meant to do? This is not a weapon meant for combat, but it hardly seems a bauble.”

  “I know what it is,” Daru whispered. His eyes were enormous in his thin face, and he shrank a little as they all turned to look at him. “That is a blade of Eth. I saw a drawing of one once. In a book.” He swallowed.

  “Let me guess.” Mattu’s voice was dry. “It was a book you were not supposed to be reading.”

  Daru shook his head.

  “I have heard of such a thing, as well.” The tattooed youth looked as if he wished himself far away. “Very bad. Very bad.” He shook his head. “Chop it up. Throw it away. Throw it into the sea. It is evil.”

  “A thing cannot be evil, though it may be used for an evil purpose.” Leviathus frowned. “In any case, I would like to take this to my father. If someone is playing at Eth-worship, Ka Atu needs to know about it.”

  Istaza Ani shook her head. “You will give this to Hafsa Azeina. She is waiting for it.”

  Leviathus raised his brows. “My father—”

  “She is right.” Mattu raised his hands as Leviathus turned toward him. “Wait, cousin, hear me out. If you take this to Ka Atu, he is going to give it to his shadowmancer for study. And Aasah…”

  “…is a priest of Illindra,” Leviathus finished. “Consort of Eth.”

  “He was born and raised in Quarabala.” Mattu raised a hand and adjusted his mask. “You know what the priests of Eth did to his people. If he suspects that the cult of Eth has arisen from the ashes…”

  “He would tear Atualon apart to find them.”

  “He would tear the world apart,” corrected Mattu Halfmask. “Shadowmancy is powerful magic, and Aasah would not be the king’s shadowmancer if he were not a dangerous man.”

  “I will take the blade to Hafsa Azeina,” Leviathus decided, and accepted it carefully from the Zeerani woman. “If she believes these people are threatening my sister, she will find them.”

  “And eat their hearts,” Ani agreed. “And use their guts to string her lyre.” The woman leaned back, breathed the steam in with a smile, and twined fingers with the man sitting next to her. “Your stonemasons should build such baths as this in Aish Kalumm. For the Mothers, of course. A fine gift for the people from Atualon.” She smiled, eyes half-closed.

  “Ah,” Leviathus said, as he wrapped the knife again and sat it down on the bench. “As it happens, Atualon will be making a gift to your people. To express our gratitude for keeping my sister safe, all these years.”

  Askander glanced toward Ani from the corner of his eyes. The youthmistress had lost her smile.

  “There is no need for gifts,” she said, rather stiffly. “Sulema is a daughter of the pride.”

  “Of course,” Leviathus agreed. “But she is my sister as well, and we are… I am… delighted to find her well and happy. You have no idea what this means to us. What it means to me.”

  The woman scowled and said nothing.

  The man at her side brought her hand to his lips. “Their ways are not our ways,” he reminded her gently. “He means no insult. Let the boy make his gesture.”

  “Oh, very well.” Her scowl darkened, but she relented. “What value would you place on one Ja’Akari, then?”

  “Ani…” Askander warned.

  “One thousand salt jars.” Leviathus smiled. The salt-clan youth squawked and nearly fell from the bench.

  The three Zeeranim stared at one another in open-mouthed shock. It was Askander who finally spoke.

  “One. Thousand.”

  “One thousand salt jars,” Leviathus agreed
.

  “You cannot know…” Ani swallowed. “You cannot know what this means to us.”

  “Life.” He smiled. “Life for life. You cannot know how precious my sister is to me, so I suppose that makes us even.”

  Ani looked at him for a long moment, and then slowly inclined her head. “I must apologize, Leviathus ap Wyvernus ne Atu. I have misjudged you.”

  Not the first time that has happened, he thought, but said only, “It may take some time for us to complete such an order. I understand that there have been difficulties in production lately. As for delivery…”

  “I believe I can help with that.” The tattooed youth grinned, bright teeth in a dark face full of mischief. “I apologize, ne Atu, for we have not been properly introduced. I am Soutan Mer ne Ninianne il Mer. I believe we have met, only,” and he winked, “never under such circumstances as these.”

  “Son of the Lady of the Lake.” Leviathus laughed. “Of course! I did not recognize you without an angry husband shaking his fist in your face. I hardly dare ask how you ended up involved in all of this. What was it this time? Or should I ask, who was it this time?”

  “You should probably not ask. There I was, naked in an olive tree…”

  “Again?”

  “Again—”

  “As fascinating as this is,” Mattu Halfmask interrupted, “the hour grows long, and we should not risk discovery any longer. My staff will be returning to their duties soon, and it would be best if we were not here.”

  “You are right, of course.” Leviathus collected the fell knife, and the wickedness of the thing dampened his mood. “You will have to tell me your story another time, Soutan Mer. If you would escort our friends to quarters here in the Merchant’s Circle…? Thank you. Atukos is in your debt.”

  Istaza Ani yawned and stood, and laughed when the Atualonian men made themselves busy looking anywhere but at her breasts. “I should not linger, in any case. Inna’hael is outside the city walls, hunting, but I cannot guarantee that he will only take four-legged prey. Best we return to the prides as soon as we may. I had hoped to see Sulema…”