Dragon and Phoenix

by Joanne Bertin

  Xiane knew he was, in many ways, a weak man. He feared that V’Choun and Yesuin, who had been more like father and brother to him than his blood kin had been, would wear him down by the sheer strength of their belief. He felt their questioning like tiny cracks in the dam of his own beliefs.

  If only …

  Lord R’sao ended his report. Xiane surfaced from his inner turmoil long enough to raise the sandalwood fan in his hand in the ritual gesture of dismissal.

  R’sao knocked his head against the floor three times, then backed away on hands and knees to the prescribed distance before standing and bowing deeply. Xiane waited dully for the next minister’s report.

  If only …

  The great doors at the far end of the room swung open, surprising everyone. Who dared interrupt the reports of the ministers to the Phoenix Lord? For once decorum was forgotten; those standing along the walls craned their necks and jostled each other like peasants at a cockfight to see the interloper. Xiane, while grateful for a break in the deadly dull routine, felt his stomach clench with fear.

  Not another invasion!

  But to his unbounded astonishment and relief, the figure that entered was Shei-Luin’s eunuch, Murohshei. Following him were some of the lesser eunuchs of the harem. A few steps into the room, the eunuchs knelt and cast themselves upon their faces, awaiting his pleasure.

  Hissing whispers spread scandal from minister to courtier and back again. It sounded like a nest of angry snakes. Xiane snapped his fan up and brought it down against the arm of the throne with a violent motion. The fan shattered with a resounding crack! that rang through the room.

  The whispers stopped at once. Pale faces turned to him, terrified at this show of imperial temper. Xiane let the remains of the fan fall from his hand. The fragrance of sandalwood filled the air.

  “I trust there is a good reason for this intrusion, Murohshei?” he said, his voice carrying in the leaden silence.

  Jaws dropped and eyes fairly bulged all along the hall. From the corner of his eye, Xiane saw many of the elder lords grab at the breasts of their robes as if the shock of the emperor deigning to address a mere eunuch in public was too much for them.

  Murohshei raised his head. “Indeed there is, Phoenix Lord. May my lady approach you?”

  Hope blazed up in Xiane’s heart. Shei-Luin was daring, but this was not a thing she would do for a jest. Could this mean—“Yes,” he answered, somehow keeping his voice steady.

  The eunuchs rose. A slender figure, heavily veiled, appeared in the doorway behind them. As the guard of eunuchs formed around her, the veiled woman walked forward. Murohshei dropped back to walk in his proper place, one pace behind his mistress.

  Down the long stretch of the audience room came the strange group. They moved with slow dignity, ignoring the scandalized faces lining their path. Straight to him they came, until at last the lesser eunuchs stepped to one side or the other and knelt, foreheads touching the floor. Shei-Luin came to the first step leading up to the Phoenix Throne and knelt there. Murohshei dropped to his knees just behind her.

  Xiane almost forgot to breathe as he stared down at the slight figure swathed in the finest silks. To approach him so, here in the audience room, took a courage unthinkable in a woman. But clearly this woman had the spirit of a tiger.

  This woman had the strength to hold him firm against the doubts V’Choun and Yesuin planted in his heart. And if she brought him the news he hardly dared hope to hear …

  “Speak,” he said, finding his tongue at last.

  “Phoenix Lord of the Skies,” Shei-Luin said, her sweet voice muffled by her veils, “I bring you joyous news. By the grace of the Phoenix, I am with child once more.”

  Xiane’s head spun. Another child? Another son, perhaps? Joy blazed up in his heart. Heedless of the ritual of the audience chamber, Xiane stood up. Amazed at his own daring, Xiane came down the nine steps that led to the throne, his heavy, stiff robes forcing him to a majestic walk when he wanted to leap from step to step.

  At last he stood before Shei-Luin. A movement of the veils told him she had tilted her head back to look at him. His hand trembling, Xiane swept the veils away. The Flower of the West gazed up at him, her dark eyes wide.

  “Give me another son,” he told her, his voice low and intent, “and I will reward you beyond your wildest dreams.”

  A buzz of speculation filled the hall as those nearest the throne passed his words on.

  Her smile dazzled him. He wanted nothing more than to drown in it. And somehow he knew that there would be another empress in Jehanglan after more than a hundred years.

  At dinner that night, Otter looked across the table and said, “Raven told me earlier what you’re planning, O Lady Mayhem, and you’ve been eyeing me throughout dinner. You want a bard for your little scheme, don’t you?” He raised his goblet to his lips.

  “Yes, I do,” answered Lleld promptly. “Thank you for volunteering, Otter.”

  When Otter choked on his wine, she wheedled, “Think of the songs you’ll be able to write about it—the only bard ever to go to the fabled Empire of the Phoenix!”

  “If my great-uncle goes, so do I,” Raven said, pounding that same great-uncle’s back as the stunned man coughed and wheezed.

  “Done!” said Lleld. “You’re the fourth—myself, Jekkanadar, Otter, and now you.” She looked down the table at Linden and Maurynna. “We need at least two more Dragonlords and their Llysanyins.”

  “No,” Linden said, appalled. “For the sake of the gods, Lleld, Maurynna can’t even Change!”

  “And that’s just why she must go, Linden,” Jekkanadar said. “Believe me, Lleld and I discussed this for a long time after we came back. You heard what Morlen said to the Lady—that there’s ‘one who is the answer to your riddle.’ Who else can that be but Maurynna? Because we at Dragonskeep know she’s among us, we may mindspeak her even though we don’t sense her presence.

  “But the Jehangli priestmages won’t know about her, so how can they sense her when even you, her soultwin, barely can?”

  “No,” Linden said again, desperately this time, for what Jekkanadar said made terrifying sense. “No and no and—”

  “Yes.”

  The quiet interruption stopped him cold. Stunned, Linden turned to Maurynna. Her face was white and set.

  “Yes,” she said again. “I have to go, don’t I?”

  “No, you don’t,” Linden began. Then her gaze locked onto his. He had never seen her eyes so hard, so cold, so filled with determination.

  She said to him, “I have to go,” her eyes still fixed on his. Now there was a hint of desperation as well.

  He understood. This was not just for the captive dragon’s sake. This was for her own sake, as well.

  He could go to the Lady, demand that she forbid Maurynna to leave, knowing that the Lady looked for any excuse to do just that.

  With a sinking heart, he realized it was the one thing he couldn’t do. Maurynna was not a child to be forbidden something, nor was he her jailer. It was not for him to tell her what she might and might not do when it touched her sense of honor, of right and wrong, no matter how dangerous it was, no matter how much it frightened him. He had no business living her life for her; he was her soultwin, not her master.

  “So you do, love,” he said at last. Then, because he had to have this much, “But I’m going with you!”

  As if she’d planned it this way all along, Lleld said, “Good, that’s settled. Now, since Otter looks oldest, I think he should be our ‘leader’ … .”

  Lost in his fears, Linden listened with only half his mind as Lleld bubbled on with her plans for all of them. Maurynna listened intently.

  Gods help her, she can’t even Change! What was Morlen thinking?

  He had only one forlorn hope. “Remember—the Lady may yet say ‘no’ to all of this,” Linden said.

  “The Lady might,” said Lleld. “But Morlen won’t. You’ll see.”

  Eighteen

&
nbsp; *Have thee reconsidered, Jessia?*

  The voice was gentle but firm. Much as she wanted to, she could not ignore it. Instead she fenced with it, seeking time, seeking …

  She was not certain what she sought. It worried her, this indecision; it was a new thing for her. She scolded herself: You’re the Lady of Dragonskeep; you cannot afford such things.

  Then, to the truedragon, You don’t give me much time to reconsider, Morlen, she countered.

  *Thee have had since yesterday morning in the Meeting Field,* the voice rebuked her gently. *How much longer must Pirakos wait?*

  So little time … . The thought drifted across her mind.

  *Just so. Pirakos has so little before the darkness claims him utterly. And if Lleld Kemberaene’s plan is to succeed, her troupe must have whatever time there is to practice. And thee know who must go.*

  The Lady sighed and paced the tower room. The truedragon was right, of course; if they were to have a chance, Lleld’s band must learn as much of the Jehangli language as possible, learn new skills, devise a show with the Llysanyins and each other. She paused by the window overlooking the plateau.

  A grey day to match her mood. Soft clouds hid the sun; soon the autumn rains would begin in earnest. Mist hid the valley below.

  Don’t you understand, she wanted to cry to him. I must know more about Maurynna. She may well be the last of us!

  The thought that her kind might be ending was like cold steel in the Lady’s heart.

  *Jessia?*

  Why could none of us sense her? Why was there so long between Linden and Maurynna with no other hope? Or were there others, others who died without our knowing they had ever been born? she asked herself. Why, Morlen? I have a thousand whys.

  *I understand, dear friend. But I have no answers for thee.*

  It’s too dangerous for her; she can’t Change. I can’t allow her to go. The Lady clenched her fists as if the gesture could hold Maurynna back from any harm.

  *She must. I have Seen it. She is the only one who has dragonmagic and casts no more of a magical shadow than a truehuman.*

  She had no answer to that simple truth. Maurynna had to go; the girl was the only one who could approach Pirakos’s prison—in theory.

  You would have me risk her for a ‘perhaps’, the Lady said angrily.

  *Thee would keep her buried here against her will.*

  The harsh words lashed at her mind like a whip. The Lady turned her face away as if from a slap.

  He continued, *She is a sea hawk, Jessia, caged and beating against the bars. I felt it those few moments I was in her mind. It would be too easy for her to fall into despair if she is without hope of freedom. This is not only for Pirakos now, my Lady of Dragonskeep. It is for Maurynna herself.*

  You would have me send her out defenseless against the world? So shall it be, Morlen. And on your head be it if she dies.

  And with those bitter words she closed her mind to him.

  “Sirl,” she called. When her servant appeared, the Lady said, “Call the Saethe into session, please; we will meet in the Old Tower a candlemark from now. And ask Lleld, Linden, and Jekkanadar to attend.”

  She would protect Maurynna as long as she could.

  Sirl bowed and went off on his errand. The Lady stared out of the window, her heart as grey as the mist.

  Still no change.

  Swearing under his breath, Lord Jhanun flung the message into the fireplace. It caught and blazed up in a brief moment of glory.

  So Haoro is still abed with brain fever, and Pah-Ko still rules at the Iron Temple. Damn!

  It was beneath him to pace like a tiger, though he wanted to. A Jehangli gentleman of the old school did not give way to his emotions so. Discipline was required in all things.

  Could his rogue Oracle have been wrong? Had he misinterpreted her words? It couldn’t be; somehow victory would be his in the end, for victory was the due of the righteous. His due.

  Still, it was just as well that he had another arrow in his quiver. Catching up the little carved stick that hung by the gong in its stand on the mantel, he struck a single clear note.

  Almost before the echoes died away, his steward came into the room. “Yes, my lord?”

  “My niece’s tutors report to you. What have they to say of her?”

  “They say that she progresses well in her studies, my lord. Her calligraphy improves, as does her playing of the zhansjen. She is becoming well versed in the womanly arts of embroidery and perfumery. While she has little talent for pen and ink drawings, Master Kialen, her drawing instructor, says she has exquisite taste in others’ work.”

  “Good,” Jhanun murmured. “Good; that is how it should be for a woman. Go on.”

  The steward continued his dry recitation. “Her poetry, while adequate in attention to the forms, is not very original. She can, though, carry on a lively and intelligent conversation about both the classics and the more recent popular works.”

  “Decadent works, you mean,” Jhanun said in disdain. “But still, it’s well that she can. Xiane is very fond of the work of some of these young upstarts.”

  He stroked his long mustache, thinking, while the steward waited patiently. Suddenly, he said, “Does she play ulim-choi yet? I ordered that she be taught, though women usually don’t play it.”

  “She’s learning, my lord.”

  “And how does she play?”

  The steward waggled a hand in the air. “She has been taught the rules, my lord, and has a good grasp of the theory. But she’s a very timid player. She doesn’t take chances.”

  “Therefore she loses each game.” At the steward’s nod, Lord Jhanun smiled. The way one played the ancient game of war and strategy often gave valuable clues to one’s character. He did not want Nama to be a bold, ruthless player. That would not suit his plans at all. “Very, very good.”

  The members of the Saethe met once more. The Lady watched them file in and take their seats, a great weariness upon her. She could see only two other choices before her, and neither gave her any joy. First, they could leave Pirakos to his fate—and that was unthinkable. Second, she could send some other Dragonlords to slip into the country. That would be possible, she knew; but they could never approach the truedragon’s prison without alerting the priestmages. So what use sending them?

  Maurynna was the only choice. Because she couldn’t Change and Jehanglan was a closed land, only Lleld’s plan had a chance of succeeding.

  Last of all came Linden, Jekkanadar—and Lleld.

  “No doubt you’ve guessed why you’re here,” the Lady said to the three. “Lleld’s plan is our only hope.”

  They nodded.

  “So,” she said to Lleld, “you’ve won.”

  The little Dragonlord met her gaze steadily. “Have I?” Lleld countered. “I think not.”

  The Lady considered that. “That’s true. No matter how this ends, no one wins this game. But hear now the rules you must play by—”

  And if they are not met? she asked herself.

  Then we must leave poor Pirakos to his fate, came the answer.

  “First, if certain help is not forthcoming …”

  A few flowers, hardier than their fellows, hung on stubbornly, but for the most part the garden at Dragonskeep was slipping into the bareness of winter. Only the trees still delighted the eye with their colorful leaves; most still clung to the branches. The rest crunched underfoot as Taren wandered the meandering paths with Raven, Otter, Lleld, Linden, Maurynna, and Jekkanadar. Wondering why he’d been invited, he listened, at first politely, then with growing excitement, as Lleld explained her scheme.

  He applauded. “A wonderful idea—traveling entertainers!”

  “Could we go in as traders?” Maurynna asked him. “I’m certain that if the Lady asked, the Dawn Emperor would be only too glad to order House Mhakkan to take us on one of their ships.”

  Raven chuckled. “Wouldn’t that burn their toes?” he murmured.

  Shaking his head, Ta
ren said, “Yes, but as traders—even under the protection of House Mhakkan—you wouldn’t be allowed to leave the foreigners’ quarter in Jedjieh, the only port that trades with the outer world. Only entertainers are allowed to travel within Jehanglan.”

  This will make it easier for my lord Jhanun. I’d not looked forward to arranging the kidnapping of these four from Jedjieh! But once they’re in the middle of nowhere, my lord’s house troops can take them.

  How kind of these fools to make his work easier. “A wonderful idea,” he repeated with heartfelt sincerity.

  Jekkanadar asked, “I’ve been wondering, Taren—will we be allowed to carry weapons in Jehanglan? I know Linden will want to bring his greatsword, Tsan Rhilin, and I’d certainly feel better if we were armed.”

  He needn’t lie or even stretch the truth for this one. “Entertainers aren’t allowed to carry swords. The best you’ll be allowed are long knives,” said Taren. Of course, all these four had to do was Change, and what need of weapons after that?

  Then an idea came to him, so audacious he nearly stumbled. But if it worked …

  “There is a thing I must tell you, my friends,” he said. “Once in Jehanglan, you’ll not be able to use your magics. Legend has it that Dragonlords can speak mind to mind—is this so?”

  “Yes,” Lleld said after glancing around at her fellow Dragonlords. “We can.”

  “Don’t, once we’re in Jehanglan,” Taren said earnestly. “For the priestmages can detect magic, even though they don’t call it that, and speaking mind to mind—or especially Changing—will bring them upon us like a pack of wolves.”

  Looks of varying degrees of astonishment met this announcement.

  “‘Us?’” Maurynna said. “Taren, you don’t mean—”

  He smiled sweetly at her. “Yes, I intend to come with you.”

  “But aren’t you afraid of being taken for a slave again, Taren? What if someone recognizes you?” Lleld said.