The Dragon's Legacy

by Deborah A. Wolf

  “No, no, you did well. Thank you.” She smiled at him encouragingly. These outlander males were so needy. “Will our salt jars be safe there?”

  “Ah, yes, Meissati. We salt merchants are the Road’s lifeblood. Steal from us,” and he smiled at last, “and you slit your own throat.”

  He is a bold one. Ani eyed the youth more closely. Nice, broad shoulders, good teeth. Big hands and feet… good breeding stock. Very well. She turned to Fairussa Ja’Akari, who rode to her right hand, and indicated the salt merchant with a jerk of her head. “I like this boy. He will do.”

  The girl’s face brightened. “Very good, Youthmistress.” She turned the full force of her smile on Bretan, who had the grace to blush.

  “Will do?” He cleared his throat. “Will do what?”

  “Whatever she says, poor boy,” Askander told him, without a hint of sympathy. “Especially now that she has the permission of an elder. Has anyone explained Ayyam Binat to you yet?”

  Ani stroked Talieso’s soft neck. She could just see the low walls of the city, off in the distance. A roof over her head would be welcome tonight. As would one of those soft outlander beds—and the lean, warm body of the First Warden to warm it.

  The churrim grumbled and spat, gnashing their flat little tusks and refusing to move faster than a slow shuffle. The clouds rumbled low and close to the ground, and by the time their party reached the low gates of Bayyid Eidtein Ani could feel the moisture beading cool upon her skin, and the sharp sting of lightning in the air. There was a time when she would have found the threat of being caught out in a storm exciting. Now she mostly wanted to get her jars and her horse away from danger and have a nice mug of dark ale.

  Bretan led them through the gates, down a wide and well-tended cobbled street. He did not stop until they had reached the largest inn in the city, three stories tall and studded with windows of colored glass like a mother’s jeweled skirts. She had passed this inn by when last they came through, not trusting any place so full of strangers, and now she pulled Talieso up short so that he snorted irritably.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” She eyed the warm light that poured from the open doors. “I would hate to have to kill so many people at once. I am old, and need my rest.”

  “Old?” Bretan choked. “Oh, ah. Yes, Meissati. Mattu Halfmask owns the Grinning Mymyc, and our people run the place. It is as safe as any inn in the city, and safer than most. Your people will not be molested here.” He eyed Fairussa as he said this, and she flashed her most charming smile at him. She had left her vest hanging open—many of the Ja’Akari had taken to dressing so, once they realized how entertaining the outlanders’ reactions would be—and his eyes avoided her body as if one look at her tits would turn him to stone.

  The poor boy should just give in and let the girl notch her belt.

  Bretan disappeared into the inn and returned with a flock of women clad in the colorful long tunics favored by the salt folk. They made off with the churrim and wagons, and the outlanders’ inferior horses, but had the sense not to touch the Zeerani asil. One of them, a tall young woman pale as an olive tree and with a wreath of flowers braided into her hair, bobbed a curtsy to Ani as if she were the mother of many children, and favored her with a sunny smile.

  “Meissati, please allow me to show you to our best stable, if you please? We had it built just for asil, and I am so honored by your presence.” Ani realized, with some humor, that the girl’s most adoring smiles were aimed at Talieso. “Do you need your stallions kept separate? Oh, just look at you, you beautiful boy.” She stepped closer, mindful not to touch, but so close to the stallion that she must be able to smell his sweet breath as he whuffled at her.

  It was forbidden for outlanders to touch the blood horses, but there was no such restriction against the asil sniffing and nudging at a smitten girl and begging for treats.

  “Talieso, mind your manners.” She did not expect him to obey, and just as well. He had found a pocket full of sugar-treats and was making silly faces. “Shameless beast.”

  “He is so beautiful.” The girl sighed in the soulful way known only to the horse-struck. “I have always wanted to see one of the asil up close. I am half-Zeerani.” This last was said softly, and with a bit of a blush.

  “Are you, now?”

  “Yes, Meissati. My mother took a fancy to one of your men on her travels, and here I am. I suppose I inherited his love of the horse. My own boys are lovely, but yours! What is his name, if I might ask?”

  “His name is Talieso. You do have the look of the Zeera about you.”

  “My mother says I favor my father.” The girl bobbed another quick curtsy, and blushed when she saw so many eyes were upon her. “Oh, I am so sorry! I see a fine horse and forget all my manners. Please, let me show you to the stables.”

  “You know,” Ani said, “the Zeeranim do not consider half-bloods to be corrupted, as you city folk do. If you wished to touch him, you may.”

  The girl reached to stroke the stallion’s neck. When he whuffled at her fingers, seeking a treat, her eyes shone as if she had just been given the moons.

  Ah, Ani thought, to be young again, and in love.

  * * *

  When the horses had been settled with an abundance of saltgrasses and water, and the girl—her name was Eleni—had pulled herself together, the Zeeranim were shown to the inn’s common room. The storm raged outside, rattling the shutters and whistling beneath the doors, but it could not touch those inside the Grinning Mymyc.

  It was an attractive establishment, with pale stone arches and long wooden tables, and a bread-hearth that took up almost an entire wall. Two slaves in clean smocks hurried to shutter the windows against the coming storm, and others to light beeswax candles, which lent a merry little light to the room as well as a pleasant herbal fragrance. Three little girls with their hair done in doll-like curls were spreading fresh rushes over the floor. Eleni was all smiles as she led them to a group of tables nearest the fire.

  “Usually we would be busy on an evening such as this,” she explained, “but Bretan said you might be coming with a large party, so we kept our rooms empty. We will be filled to bursting now, and your drovers may have to bed down in the loft above the churra-pens. But our lofts are roomy, and clean as any other inn’s kitchens! So it is good that you came. My boys will have your belongings up in your rooms before you have finished supper.

  “It is too bad, really, that you have come to us in such drear weather. Were it a pleasant evening, you might ride one of our dinner barges and dine on fish caught right before your eyes. I suppose they have none of that in your desert. You must come back and visit us again, when the lilies are in full bloom and the lesser serpents are singing! It is quite a treat, I can tell you that, and I have lived here my whole life.”

  Ani noticed that the girl had hay in her hair and horse slobber on her tunic. Also that her mindless chatter was a ruse. Even as she nattered on, Eleni coordinated a perfect dance of servants and slaves, and a host of well-dressed young women with the wild curly hair and laughing eyes of the salt-merchant families. Ani sat back, bemused, and watched the show.

  This girl would make a fine mother.

  A trio of handsome young men in short white vests and red silk pants danced and juggled and flirted their way across the common room, and took up a place near the fire. One of them played a set of birds’-bone pipes, one of them plucked a round-bellied stringed instrument with a voice like a whining girl, and the third began throwing pieces of fruit and bright scraps of colored silk into the air and juggling them between smiles and winks at the women. He even favored Ani with a saucy bow and a suggestive smirk.

  “Wonder if he can juggle knives as well as he handles those pomegranates.” Askander’s face was dangerously blank.

  “It is easy to juggle fruit that is not yet ripe,” Ani suggested, and he relaxed with a little laugh.

  Their party indeed filled the room to overflowing. Bretan came in after a bit and sat d
own at their table, across from Ani and Askander. He leaned over and addressed them in a low voice.

  “Your jars are locked away safe and sound, with a fist of my best men among them,” he assured her. “They will take their meals out there and sleep in shifts. No harm will come to your treasure, I swear it.” He leaned back and nodded his thanks as a slip of a girl in a long yellow tunic brought him a big mug of dark ale. “Hatanye, Luenna. Look at you, growing like a river-willow. Next time I come through, I expect you will be taller than I am.” The girl giggled and scampered off.

  “Family?” Ani asked. Eleni bustled from the kitchens with an army of youths bearing platters and plates, jugs and bottles and mugs.

  “Cousin.” He smiled warmly at the approaching troops. “Most everyone here is a cousin of some sort—we of the Mer seem to be more fertile than most. My mother thinks it has something to do with the salt. Ah, Eleni, my sweet! You have outdone yourself again.”

  The Zeeranim, the salt merchants, and their guards were served first, but there was plenty and to spare for everyone in the inn: whole roast fowls with fruits and nuts and wild grains spilling from their steaming cavities, roast leg of something big and fat, a plate of eels, and an enormous red fish with buggy eyes and a suckling pig stuffed in its toothy maw, baked in a crust of salt. Askander sat forward and whistled through his teeth, and Bretan grinned at their reactions.

  “I told you she would feed you well.”

  “So I shall,” Eleni laughed. “I got to groom an asil stallion! I touched him with my own hands.” Her smile was beatific. She held a stoppered bottle with two hands, and set it down on the table in front of Ani with a soft thud. “With my thanks, Meissati.” She removed the glass stopper with a practiced twist of her hand.

  Bretan frowned. “Eleni…”

  “They are family,” she sniffed, “or good as. Meissati Ani tells me that we are kin of sorts through my father, and that is good enough for me.”

  A seductive aroma misted from the lip of the ruby glass bottle. Eleni poured a small amount of liquid the color of blood and amber into a tiny glass, and handed it to Ani. She gave another to Askander, a third to Bretan, and took one for herself. Then she stoppered the bottle again in a manner that brooked no argument. She held up the little glass, and Bretan did the same. “Dachu!” They exclaimed in unison, and tossed the liquid into their mouths. Bretan grunted a little, and Eleni shook her head and snorted.

  The room had gone quiet. Ani saw that the other patrons were all staring at them open-mouthed. She sniffed at the liquid suspiciously. It made her eyes water, and it made her throat ache with thirst. She hesitated, neither wanting to offend nor to die of poison. “What is it?”

  “Dachu.” Bretan coughed and blinked rapidly. “It is not commonly… ach… it is not often given to outsiders.” He glared a bit at Eleni, who ignored him as if she had had long years of practice.

  Ani shrugged and looked at Askander. They raised their glasses together, as the others had done. “It is a good day to die,” she said.

  “And a better day to live,” he agreed. “Dachu!” They tossed back the liquor together.

  It tasted like honey, and berries, and fire. Mostly fire. Ani held her mouth closed by sheer effort of will, but the tears streamed down her face. Askander looked a bit alarmed, and sniffed once or twice, but that was as much reaction as they got from him.

  He would pay for that, later.

  Then the glow took hold of her, and Ani took back every unkind thought she had ever held about these outlanders. Her heart was warm, warm as a summer rain, and it whispered through her veins like a promise. She felt as if she could ride for days… fourth circle of Yosh, she felt as if she could run for days, and faster than Talieso.

  “Mmf.” Askander pursed his lips and nodded. His eyes lit like coffee in the sunlight. “That is… ah. That is good. What is in this?”

  “Trade secret.” Eleni winked. She shook her head as he reached for the bottle, not smiling now. “Ah, ah. You do not want more of that, trust me. Dachu should not be taken more than once every two-moon. One small cup, thrice a year, will bring you health and long life. More than that…” She shook her head again.

  “This is why we do not sell it.” Bretan frowned at Eleni, as she took the bottle up in both hands and sashayed away.

  The glow was blossoming in Ani’s midsection, spreading throughout her limbs. It did not make her feel an idiot, as too much mead or usca might, it just felt… good. More than good. She licked her lips and smiled at the burn on her tongue. It felt wonderful. She wondered if anything might induce the salt merchants to trade this drink of theirs.

  She was still basking in the glow of Dachu when the door banged open. Two tall men stood in the doorway, dripping wet, their cloaks lashing about them in the rising winds like a wrathful bloodmyst. Lightning crashed behind them, and thunder roared an answer, and the light caught on the gold masks of the Baidun Daiel. When the lightning flashed again Ani could see that they were dragging a third man, naked and bloodied, between them.

  Eleni came storming out of the kitchen, eyes flashing like the storm’s light. “Close those doors! You goat-headed, pig-brained sacks of— Oh. Oh!” Her eyes went round and wide, and she dropped the glass she had been holding. It floated slowly down the long silence and then shattered against the flagstones, spraying sharp little fragments of glass that twinkled like tiny stars among the rushes. “Oh, oh, oh.” She dropped into a curtsy so deep it seemed the floor would swallow her in one gulp.

  “Rooms,” rasped one of the gold-masks. “Two rooms. Food. Now.” The blood-cloaked men began dragging their unfortunate companion toward the stairs, leaving the doors open to the storm. Ani had never heard any of the Baidun Daiel speak. There was something different about these two. Something about their masks was… not right.

  As they dragged the man into the warm light of the fire and the beeswax candles, Ani stared in shock. His hair was dark and matted with blood, his face swollen almost beyond recognition. To any who had not been trained to notice a certain ripple of light, he would appear as a plain brown-haired man with features so average as to be nearly invisible.

  But Hafsa Azeina had shown her how to see around such small tricks, and Ani saw the red-haired man beneath the enchantment. Though the white-and-gold garments of the ne Atu had been stripped from him, and his features had been blurred with a spell of some sort, she recognized the brother of Sulema beyond any shadow of doubt.

  Askander reached to stop her, but it was too late.

  She rose to her full and unimpressive height, and gathered her ka in as Hafsa Azeina had taught her, long ago when they were friends. Let the power fill her, fill the center of her still glowing like a rose born in a bed of coals, and she heard the storm crackling in her voice when she spoke. She had not done this in a very long time, and the little power she could control was less than a spark to the dreamshifter’s bright candle, but perhaps they would not be expecting a challenge.

  “Stop,” she growled.

  They stopped.

  Ani stepped around the table full of her companions and across a room so quiet she could hear the rushes tremble beneath her feet, could hear the glass crunch as it ground beneath her sandals. Dark eyes, empty eyes, glittered at her from behind the smooth gold masks. She could see fear in every other face in the room—cold fear, sick fear, a child’s fear in the night. She could smell it… but the storm of fear washed around her heart, leaving her untouched.

  “What do you do with this man?” She folded her arms across her chest. It is a good day to die, she thought. A beautiful day to die, with a song in the air and a storm tearing its way through her heart. Askander pulled out a dagger, the sound of bared steel grating in the tense silence, and began cleaning his fingernails with it.

  Show-off.

  The shorter gold-masked figure twitched his head back like a startled horse. “We found this man… in the storm.” He had a voice like a box full of gravel.

  “You foun
d him like this? Beaten and naked in the streets? Attacked by bandits, no doubt.”

  “Yessss.” The taller of the two nodded fractionally. His voice was an iron nightmare. “Just so. Yes.”

  For a moment, the only sounds in the room were her own breath, and the drip, drip, drip of water from the men’s scarlet cloaks onto the floor. In the firelight, the leather bindings of their armor looked like a serpent’s wet scales, and droplets of rain hung motionless on their golden masks.

  “Then I am in your debt.” She smiled and relaxed her stance. Both of the Baidun Daiel stiffened. “This man is my property.”

  “Property?”

  “I bought him at the slave-docks just this morning. I had sent him on an errand. No doubt he became lost in the storm, and your… bandits caught him unawares.”

  “You… lie.” The shorter man rasped, and his hand went to the hilt of the red sword at his waist.

  The Zeeranim rose to their feet as one. Swords whispered death, death. Askander blew on his fingertips, unconcerned.

  “Mutaani,” she smiled. “Ja’Akari do not lie.” The same could not be said of Dziranim, but she saw no reason to explain the difference to these men.

  “Mutaani,” the warriors echoed. Beauty in death.

  The two men in their red cloaks and golden masks were still as a dead man’s breath for a long moment, and then they dropped the third man to the ground.

  “You say he is yours,” one of the gold-masked men said to her. His eyes were odd, flat and intense at the same time.

  “His blood is on your hands,” said the other. They wheeled and strode into the storm. Eleni hurried to close and latch the door as the room exploded in shouts and frightened laughter.

  Ani looked up and into the sober eyes of the bull-helmed youth.

  “Guts and goatfuckery, what was in that drink?” she asked him. “Whatever it is, I could use another shot.”

  “Whatever it is, it does not seem to make a person smarter,” Askander drawled. He sheathed his dagger and stood, glancing regretfully at the nearly untouched feast. “Looks like we will be heading out into the storm, after all.”