Dragon and Phoenix

by Joanne Bertin

First she had to get him to notice her—truly notice her. She crept up behind him.

  Then she poked him.

  His nerves were good even if his manners needed mending. For though Raven jumped a good handspan or two into the air, he made no sound. He did, however, whirl around in a fighting crouch when his feet touched ground once more, his hand flying to his belt dagger. Maylin saw with satisfaction that he had the grace to look embarrassed at the sight of her. There was hope for him yet.

  “Are you done with being rude?” she whispered.

  He glared at her, but followed when she pointedly turned and walked away.

  When they were at the beginning of the alley, Maylin said, “I thought you’d gone to the inn.”

  Raven shrugged and made no explanation. He muttered, “It’s not fair.”

  “Fair?” Maylin said. She had to tilt her head far back to look him in the face. It was a decided disadvantage; however, Maylin had never let that stop her before. She folded her arms across her chest. “Fair? Since when is anything in life fair? Not that ‘fair’ has anything to do with this. If you’d take the time to look beyond the tip of your selfish nose, you’d see how right they are for each other. They belong together, Raven.”

  “I’d thought Rynna and I would …” He trailed off.

  “In-deed? And did you ever discuss this with Rynna? No? Then don’t get all into a snit that she didn’t follow the story you’d written—not when you didn’t tell her the tale.” She rested a hand on his arm. “Raven, please; look at them and truly see them, not what you want to see.”

  He shook her hand off and stalked away.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Back to the inn.” But after three long strides he stopped. Half looking back over his shoulder, he said, “Blast you. Why do you have to be right?” Then he was off again before she could say anything else.

  Maylin walked slowly to the gate leading to the courtyard in the front of the house and passed through. Shutting the gate behind her, she leaned against it, lost in thought until the chill of the autumn night drove her inside once more.

  Raven walked quickly through the streets of Casna. Curse the girl! She was right and they both knew it.

  Maurynna would never be his.

  The next day was spent quietly. Word was sent to the palace of their arrival, a privy message for the eyes of Duke Beren, regent of Cassori. A short, cryptic note came in return, bidding them await a visit that evening from one who would arrange what they needed.

  So when the early autumn darkness fell, they met in the front room of the Vanadin home. Linden looked around the table; to his left was Otter, then Raven, Elenna, and Owin. Next came Jekkanadar and Lleld, with little Kella on her new heroine’s other side. Lleld had spent the day teaching the girl a few tumbling tricks, and now the child wanted nothing more than to run away and join their troupe. Judging by the look in her mother’s eye, Kella might well be tied down when it came time for them to leave—just in case. Maylin sat nearly opposite Raven; Linden noticed her eyes rarely left him. He, on the other hand, seemed hardly to notice her.

  Only Taren was absent, having pleaded fatigue earlier. They’d left him resting at the inn.

  “Why can’t I come with you?” Kella asked Lleld for perhaps the hundredth time. “I did well, didn’t I? I want to learn juggling next.”

  “Perhaps next time, sweetheart; this time we’re for a long journey to visit Rynna’s other kin,” Lleld said.

  Kella sighed. “I never get to go anywhere. Bother; well then, I shall teach Rann what I’ve learned today the next time I play with him.”

  Linden said in surprise, “You play with Rann?”

  “At the palace,” Kella told him proudly. “We have fun. He’s my best friend.”

  How did this miracle come about, Linden wondered. He would have thought the Cassorin aristocracy too rank-proud to stand for their prince playing with a merchant’s child. Then he realized: commoner though she was, Kella was bloodkin to one Dragonlord and marriage-kin to another. That would be good enough for even the most snobbish Cassorin noble.

  He found himself suddenly wishing they were not traveling in disguise. He would have liked to go to the palace with Kella and see the little Cassorin princeling again. Surely the boy was in better health now that his traitorous uncle Peridaen, and Peridaen’s mage, Kas Althume, were no longer slowly poisoning him.

  But in the end it was Peridaen who saved the child when Kas Althume would have slain him, a part of Linden’s mind reminded him.

  So he did—and died in Rann’s stead, Linden said in amends to Peridaen, silently thanking the man.

  On the heels of the memory came a knocking at the door. After a glance at the Dragonlords, Owin went to answer it himself.

  Linden heard the door open, heard a mutter of voices and a low exclamation of surprise. Then came the sound of running feet, and a boy dressed in the livery of a servant pelted into the room and flung his cloak to the floor. Linden stood up in time to catch the child as the boy launched himself at him.

  “Dragonlord! Linden Rathan! You came back!” And Prince Rann was in Linden’s arms once more, arms tight around his neck.

  But what a Rann this was! The little boy Linden had left behind was thin, sickly, and pale, only beginning what promised to be a long recuperation from his illness. This lad was sturdy and hale, with rosy cheeks and a glow in the brown eyes that peeked out from beneath thick bangs.

  “Ooof! Gods help us—look at you, boy!” Linden laughed as he ruffled Rann’s brick red hair. “This is wonderful!” He hugged the boy in return.

  As he had done once before, Linden balanced Rann on one hip. Rann waved to Maurynna.

  “Hello, Captain Erdon!” the boy began, then stopped in confusion as she laughed and held up a hand in greeting. “I mean, Maurynna Kyrissaean. Hello, Bard Otter.”

  “Hello, boyo,” Otter said with a wink.

  Rann beamed.

  Owin and another man entered, the latter with a rueful grin. He, like Rann, was dressed in a servant’s livery. It was a moment before Linden recognized him as a supporter of Duke Beren in his bid for the regency a few months ago. What was the man’s—ah; he had it.

  “Lord Tyrian, I’m pleased to see you again. And thank you for bringing Rann.”

  The man’s face lit with pleasure at being remembered. Then the rueful expression was back. “Don’t ask me how he found out you were coming, Your Grace, but find out he did, and wouldn’t give poor Beren any peace until he was allowed to come along tonight.”

  “Well, I for one am glad,” Linden said as he pulled up his chair once more. “But I think we need to get down to business right away. It wouldn’t do for Rann to be missed at the palace.” He sat; Rann curled up in his lap, head on Linden’s shoulder. Linden heard the boy heave a sigh of pure happiness; he wrapped an arm around the child and wished they didn’t have to leave Cassori so soon.

  There was a general murmur of agreement on the need for haste. The mugs were refilled with Elenna’s ale, a new one poured for Lord Tyrian.

  Then Lleld once more took over as leader of the expedition. “We need,” she said after introducing herself and the others Tyrian didn’t know, “swift passage to Thalnia for ourselves and one other who is not with us tonight. We must be there before the winter storms strike—and Maurynna says we’ve not much time until they do.”

  “Why not Change and fly there?” Tyrian asked innocently.

  Only a sharp intake of breath from Maurynna broke the sudden silence. But Tyrian knew his business; Linden saw the man’s eyes dart from one Dragonlord to another, seeking an answer to a very different question.

  Then Otter said, “Because we wish to travel together, my lord, and neither my nephew nor I—nor the other man with us—are Dragonlords. Besides, there are the horses to consider.”

  “Of course,” said Tyrian with a look of chagrin. “How silly of me to forget you’re truehuman.”

  Otter laughed. It sounded genuine; but
then, Linden thought, it would. Otter was a bard down to his fingertips, and well used to dissembling.

  “A pity, that,” the bard said, “considering what the voyage here from Thalnia was like. I’d just as soon pass up another trip at sea. But at least this time I shan’t be at the mercy of a certain mad sea captain.” He blew Maurynna a kiss, his eyes twinkling.

  Her answering smile was tight and brittle but convincing enough. Tyrian, however, still looked a touch … Wary? Suspicious? Linden shifted Rann in his lap as if readying for battle.

  But Tyrian let the silence stretch on as he watched his forefinger trace a pattern on the table. Linden relaxed again.

  Abruptly the Cassorin said, “May I ask, Your Graces, why this hasty voyage and why such secrecy?” Once more his gaze flickered from Dragonlord to Dragonlord.

  But if Otter was an old hand at dissembling, Lleld was more experienced yet. She smiled brightly at Tyrian and laid her small, pale hand on her soultwin’s darker one. “Sometimes, my lord, even Dragonlords get tired of Dragonskeep. The truth be told, Jekkanadar and I were bored. Add to that Maurynna and Linden’s decision to visit Rynna’s family in Thalnia, and that Otter and his kinsman Raven—good friends to us, both—are also bound for there, and you have a good excuse to go a-wandering.” She turned to smile up at Jekkanadar a moment before continuing, “As for secrecy, why, this is no visit of state and we simply wish to avoid any unnecessary fuss. Linden, I know, had enough of that his last time here.”

  Tyrian covered a cough that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle.

  Maurynna said, “And as for haste, my lord, well, the decision to go south to Thalnia was made late. I was a sea captain before I was a Dragonlord; I remember only too well what it’s like to be caught in a winter storm at sea. I’ve no wish to repeat the experience. I want to be off as soon as possible.”

  Well done, Linden said, letting amusement color his mindvoice. Spoken as convincingly as Otter or Lleld could have done.

  The best way to lay a false trail is to tell the truth, Maurynna replied. All I just said is nothing more than that. The Lady was late in letting us go. He doesn’t need to know who made the decision. And those storms are no joke. She rubbed her forehead as a spasm of pain crossed her face. I can’t … continue … . Her mindvoice grew fainter. Kyrissaean …

  But Linden had felt the dragonsoul’s presence buzzing like an angry horde of wasps in Maurynna’s first words. Her skull must feel as if it were splitting.

  Rest easy, love, he said in concern as the color drained from her face.

  “Maurynna Kyrissaean?” Prince Rann whispered, stirring uneasily in Linden’s lap. When no answer came the small, worried face turned up to him. “Is she well?”

  “Just tired, lad,” Linden reassured him quietly. “That’s all.” To Lleld he said, End this quickly.

  And for once, bless her, Lady Mayhem did as she was told.

  A soft knock sounded at the door. “Here’s the meadowsweet tea you asked for,” Maylin said from the other side.

  Linden opened the door and Maylin scooted in, a steaming mug held carefully before her. She paused a moment to stare openmouthed at the globes of coldfire illuminating the room before remembering her mission and bringing the mug to Maurynna, sitting propped up in the bed. “Haven’t we done this before?”

  “So we have,” Maurynna said with a weak smile. “Thank you.” Her hands shook as she took the mug. Linden reached out to help her, but she shook her head and drank.

  “I don’t know if I shall ever get used to seeing these,” Maylin murmured, reaching out to touch one of the glowing white globes. Her odd-colored eyes were wide. The coldfire bobbed under her tentative finger like a cork in water, returning to its place when Maylin dropped her hand.

  “I know what you said downstairs,” she began in a voice as ordinary as if she discussed the weather, “but I also know it was a lot of nonsense. You’re not really going to visit the Erdons. You’re on a mission of some sort—and a dangerous one, too—aren’t you?”

  Linden exchanged a swift and startled glance with Maurynna. He began, “Nonsense; what—”

  Maylin put her hands on her hips and stared at him, one eyebrow raised.

  He admitted defeat under that withering tell-me-another-one glare. “How did you know?”

  “Because lighthearted as you all seemed, from time to time one or another of you would suddenly grow serious,” Maylin said. “And …” She waved a hand vaguely. “I just knew.”

  There was no answer to that.

  “Where?” Maylin finally asked.

  Maurynna said, “Do you remember the carved jade box from Sherrine’s wergild? The one I gave you?”

  Maylin’s jaw dropped. After a false try or three, she gasped, “Jehanglan? You’re going to Jehanglan? But why?”

  “To do the impossible,” Maurynna said, her eyes dark and haunted.

  Twenty-four

  Lord Tyrian had wrought most efficiently. It was only four days later that a vessel was ready for them.

  Maurynna studied the area and their ship. She’d never been to this end of the dockyards on the Uildodd River. It was not an area frequented by reputable merchants.

  But, she thought, looks were deceiving. To a casual glance, the dock appeared well-nigh abandoned, in poor repair and little used. Yet her practiced eye noted that despite the dirt and grime, the wood and ropes were in good—very good—condition. More importantly, so was the ship tied to the dock, a nondescript cog named the Swan’s Heart.

  She nodded to herself. It made sense. Any ruler might have need of a ship to send on delicate—and very private—business and a place to berth it. And she’d wager that although the crew of the Swan’s Heart looked the worst band of cutthroats she’d ever seen, no doubt every last one was sworn to the crown, knew how to hold his tongue and, above all, could outsail the very gods.

  Satisfied that they were in good hands, she waited with the others: Uncle Owin and Aunt Elenna; Maylin and Kella; Otter, Lleld and Jekkanadar. Linden and Raven were on board settling the animals. Even Rann was here with Lord Tyrian, both again disguised as servants, coming up as the travelers waited to board. Taren stood slightly to one side; looking absorbed in his thoughts. Maurynna wondered if he regretted agreeing to return to Jehanglan.

  The breeze shifted; the smell of docks and river disappeared. Now came the clean tang of salt air, the promise of freedom and the sea. Once more her horizons would be limitless; the blues of water and sky meeting level and open, and not the jagged fence of mountains surrounding Dragonskeep. A living ship would dance beneath her feet again.

  So why did she feel so miserable? It was what she had longed for more than anything all this time.

  Wasn’t it?

  The sea breeze teased at her hair and gamboled around her, but gave her no answer. Sighing, Maurynna looked up to watch Taren’s horse rise into the air as the workers strained against the wheel working the cables. Kella and Rann, each holding one of her hands now, stared, their mouths Os of wonder. The gelding hung, quietly miserable, in its canvas belly sling. At least it was much less trouble than the Llysanyins had been. They were not amused by the thought of a sea voyage. At the sight of the ship they had balked, one and all. Shan had even tried to kick Linden when the canvas sling was wrapped around him on the dock. Only Linden’s speed had saved him; for once Shan hadn’t been in jest. Miki had been quicker with her teeth, though. Linden, Maurynna thought, would have a spectacular bruise on his shoulder by tonight.

  If Linden ever finds out who told the Llysanyins about seasickness, he’ll skin me alive.

  The crane swung out over the water, Taren’s horse looking more wretched than ever. Then it was in position over the ship. Slowly, carefully, the men turning the great wheel reversed direction. The gelding descended into the hold, the open hatch waiting like a mouth to devour the hapless animal. Maurynna shuddered at the image as the beast disappeared from sight.

  Linden climbed out of the hold a few moments late
r. He called something down to the sailors below, then started across the deck. Maurynna saw Captain Hollens stop him; Linden listened, rubbing his sore shoulder. A glance at the river and she knew what the captain’s message was. Then Linden nodded and strode down the gangplank.

  “They’re settled?” Maurynna said as he joined her.

  “After too damned much fussing, yes,” Linden grumbled, wincing as he massaged his shoulder. “Blast Miki; I didn’t think she’d try something like that.” He glared at the little mare’s rider.

  Lleld stared off into the distance, whistling softly.

  “None of that when we’re aboard,” Maurynna said sharply. At Lleld’s look of surprise, she softened her tone. “It’s bad luck to whistle on board a ship if you don’t need a wind. And at this time of year we won’t.” She half turned at the sound of more footsteps coming down the gangplank.

  It was Raven—an unscathed Raven. Maurynna saw him hide a smirk at Linden’s discomfort and squashed an urge to kick him for it. Instead she merely narrowed her eyes, waiting until he noticed her glare.

  When he did, he squirmed under it to her almost complete satisfaction. That would wait until she was able to have a few private … words with him.

  Then she heard Linden say, “We must board now; Captain Hollens said that the tide is turning and we must be away,” and it seemed her entire family was hugging her at once, murmuring good-byes, wishing her a safe voyage, bidding her to come back soon. She fought back tears and said whatever meaningless assurances came to her tongue, keeping up the pretense that this was merely a pleasure trip.

  Suddenly, like a whirlwind, Maylin was before her. Odd-colored eyes met odd-colored eyes. Hands caught hers; how did such a little thing as Maylin have such strength in her grip? Maurynna surrendered to it.

  “Come back,” Maylin whispered fiercely. “All of you. Safely.” The burning gaze darted to Raven. “Come back to me.”

  Then Maylin spun away and Linden’s hand was on her shoulder. “Time to go, love,” he whispered so that only she might hear.