Dragon and Phoenix

by Joanne Bertin

  Then Shei-Luin saw it again. “Look! Look! Do you see that shadow? That’s the—”

  The bowl of light shimmered wildly. Streaks of gold raced across it, forming a pattern of—

  Cracks. The Palace of the Phoenix was dissolving before her very eyes. Shei-Luin watched, numbly, as the glowing shield dissolved, revealing a huge golden bird beneath it. Enormous eyes of emerald green blinked up at her, glittering with mad fury.

  People screamed around her, but Shei-Luin hardly heard them. Only one thought filled her numbed mind.

  Xiane, you died for nothing. I’m sorry.

  Then someone was tugging at her sleeve, taking Xahnu from her nerveless arms. A voice bellowed in her ear, “Lady! We must flee!”

  Below her, the great wings spread.

  Fifty-eight

  Somehow they were down the stairs from the tower. She remembered none of it. Behind her, Shei-Luin heard a wild singing. She looked back once.

  The Phoenix was rising on wings of flame. One brushed against the tower; the wooden shelter topping it burst into flames. Then Shei-Luin looked no more. With her little family around her, she ran.

  The old dragon opened his eyes at long last. Water swirled around him. High, high above, he could see a faint brightness that he knew meant the sky. He rose up to meet it, swimming strongly, eager to feel the air once again.

  Brighter and brighter the water around him grew, until—

  His head broke the surface of the lake, and Oolan Jeel tasted the wind once more. He lay a moment upon the surface of the water, basking in the sunlight.

  But great things were happening. Sending out a call to the few others he knew slept at the bottoms of their lakes, he let himself dissolve into mist, and rose from the lake like a cloud.

  The city of Rivasha burned. As they ran down the streets, part of a panicked crowd, Shei-Luin could see the Phoenix passing overhead. Flames sprang up wherever the fire that dripped from its wings fell.

  She heard horses—a troop of cavalry! They were saved! “This way!” she cried and, snatching up Xahnu from his exhausted nurse, ran down a side street, the others following.

  They came out almost in the middle of the mounted group; there were only a few of them. She cried to their leader. He turned in the saddle—

  “No!” Shei-Luin tried to turn back, but it was too late. Jhanun’s horse spun around and leaped at her. She fell back, dodging him. He cursed.

  But she couldn’t avoid the second man. She stared up into an alien face, yellowed with the sun, topped by a fringe of white hair. He laughed at her in triumph, reaching for the child in her arms.

  Then Murohshei was between them. A small blade flashed, and the rider clapped a hand to his leg, howling. Together, Murohshei and Zyuzin dragged him down from his horse.

  Shei-Luin fell back against a building, Xahnu clutched against her chest, her heart pounding in her ears. Yet it was not enough to drown out Jhanun’s triumphant cry.

  “Leave them—Nalorih’s got the other boy! Split up—you know where to meet!”

  With a scream of anguish, Shei-Luin ran into the road after them. But they were mounted, and she was not; and she bore the weight of a sturdy, screaming child besides.

  She watched in despair as the riders disappeared into the smoke, her son and his nurse their captives.

  Turning, she saw Murohshei haul their captive to his feet. Blood ran down the man’s leg.

  “I recognize this one,” Murohshei said. “He’s one of Jhanun’s servants—Baisha.”

  “Bring him,” Shei-Luin said, coldly.

  When Linden reached the former prison of the phoenix, he saw a city in flames, but no phoenix, only an empty crater topping a low mountain. The place reeked of magic.

  Then he heard an unearthly singing and looked around.

  Rising from behind a palace came the most beautiful thing Linden had ever seen. The phoenix burst into the air, fire dripping from its wings. It was the size of a truedragon, with a tail of long, flowing feathers.

  Golden feathers, golden talons, golden beak; the phoenix shone like a small sun. Only the eyes were green and filled with hate. It rose above the palace only to stoop down again like a striking hawk. Fire streamed out behind it. At the last possible moment, the phoenix pulled out of the dive, skimming just above the palace and the temple. It blazed through the air like a fiery comet, screaming in mad fury.

  Fire sprang up in a hundred places. Linden could hear the terrified screams of those within as each refuge turned into a charnel house. The phoenix swung round for another pass; this time it struck at the towers with beak and claws. They shattered under the onslaught like dried reeds. Again and again the phoenix struck the palace, seeking revenge for its centuries of imprisonment.

  It wants to burn the world, he thought. Then, I have to stop it—there are too many innocents in this city!

  With a roar, he dove at the phoenix. His fiery breath passed over its head, and the phoenix looked around. It left its assault on the city and came after him.

  He dodged it, trying to draw it away from the city again and again. But it returned after every attack. He tried to reach its mind, but stopped when he realized that, unlike a dragon, the phoenix’s mind was that of an animal.

  He kept after it, not daring to close with it, though the fire that dripped from the actual phoenix’s wings and tail wasn’t as deadly as that of the Sending Morlen and the truedragons had faced. He tried blasting it with dragonfire, but it was too quick.

  As he wasn’t, once. A tip of that fire brushed across his tail, and he roared in pain. It was only a matter of time, he knew, before it caught him. He’d come to this fight already tired.

  As if sensing his fears, the phoenix dove at him, shrieking its rage to the skies.

  Lleld flew through the blue Jehangli sky, forcing her wings to beat as hard as they could. She should be in Rivasha now, helping Linden. But Jekkanadar needed her. She could only pray she got to him in time.

  Linden veered away from the phoenix as the screams of rage assaulted his ears again and again. Then, over that sound, came a bellowing roar. Rolling, he turned his long neck to look over his shoulder to the north. The sight that met his eyes made his wings falter and sent a cold grue down his spine.

  The sight of the chains dangling from fetters on all four legs was bad enough. But then he saw the raw, oozing flesh around the fetters and his stomach roiled.

  Yet worst of all was the look in the strange dragon’s eyes. Gods help him, no dragon should look like that, eyes blazing scarlet with madness and blood lust. That was not the nature of dragons; that this one should have been so twisted from its true self …

  This must be Pirakos, his shocked mind said. By Gifnu’s nine hells, what have they done to him?

  He almost forgot the phoenix. Only the rush of wind through the golden feathers warned him. Linden frantically dropped and rolled again. The fiery trail barely missed him as the phoenix flew through the space where he’d just been.

  But he was not the phoenix’s target, he realized the next moment. He had simply been in the creature’s way; he mattered no more than an insect to it now.

  For it had also seen Pirakos. Its shriek of rage as it flew over Linden well-nigh deafened him. This is my true enemy, that wordless shriek said.

  And Pirakos thought the same. *Thee!* Pirakos raged. *Thee are the cause of all my suffering!* The dragon’s mindvoice rang in Linden’s head, threatening to shatter his skull: *This one is mine! Stand aside or I slay thee, too.* Pirakos howled insanely and dove. Scarlet flames erupted from his open mouth.

  The phoenix flew to meet him, fire dripping from wings and tail, its green eyes burning with the same madness. From it came images and feelings that scorched the mind: the torment of being buried alive in a cavern filled with molten rock, fury at being trapped, the desperate need to immolate itself upon its nest-pyre. And above all, a towering rage at the dragon that it perceived as the cause of all its tortures.

  Linden fell b
ack before their combined fury. He wanted to cry out that neither was to blame, both had been used, it was all the fault of men greedy for power, men dead centuries ago and beyond revenge. Yet he knew neither would listen; both dragon and phoenix alike were too consumed by their madness and hatred. He could only watch. All the while, the violent emotions of the combatants beat at him.

  Dragon and phoenix met in a burst of scarlet and gold fire. Golden feathers shriveled and blackened as dragonfire scorched them. A sickening odor filled the air. Then Pirakos banked and slashed the phoenix across the breast. A shriek of rage and pain rent the sky. The wound dripped blood the color of the sun at dawn.

  Pirakos screamed his triumph, but it was short-lived. For the phoenix swept around and lashed its foe across the face with its blazing tailfeathers. Pirakos turned his head at the last moment, taking the blow along his neck.

  It was all that kept the battle from ending that instant. Had the blow landed across his vulnerable eyes, Pirakos would have been blind, and easy prey for his enemy. But his tough neck scales took the brunt of the blow; now those same scales were curled and blackened by the intense heat of the magical fire. As Linden watched in horror, a few of the scales crumbled away, revealing burned and blistered flesh beneath.

  The wind shifted. Linden had thought the smell of burning feathers nauseating; this was ten times worse.

  Though Pirakos did not fall from the air, he faltered. It was clear that only instinct kept him aloft. His eyes were glazed with pain, and the great body shuddered. Linden knew that the truedragon was nearly done.

  The phoenix rose in the sky, a triumphant scream bursting from its throat. Its eyes glittered like emeralds. It climbed higher, stroke by powerful wings-troke. Yet it had not escaped unscathed: though the slashing blow Pirakos dealt it had failed to still the great wings, the breast wound bled golden ichor like liquid amber. And the flight itself was slower than before, and wobbled.

  The loss of those wing feathers is throwing it off balance, Linden thought. Perhaps there’s still a chance—

  With a fierce cry, the phoenix stooped like a hawk upon a rabbit, arrowing straight for Pirakos. The dragon hung in the air, motionless save for the heavy beating of his wings. His chains dangled like hangman’s nooses.

  Chains. Iron …

  Shei-Luin’s band wandered the burning city, seeking a way out. Once Shei-Luin looked up, and saw a creature from a nightmare fly overhead, a great red beast that did battle with the Phoenix.

  She had but one thought in mind: get her son back.

  Then they entered a part of the city that wasn’t burning yet, and before them was a soldiers’ barracks. Exhausted as she was, she found the strength to break into a run, Xahnu heavy in her arms. She would let no one else take him; she’d already lost one child.

  She cried out to the soldiers she saw. When they recognized her robes, they ran to meet her, their captain among them.

  As quickly as she could, she explained what had happened.

  The captain drew in a harsh breath. “Phoenix Lady, we will do what we can, but it will take time. This barracks is all foot soldiers. We must send to another for a mounted troop, and I fear it will be a small one, for most are searching the city to lead people out. But go inside and rest, my lady.”

  Numb, Shei-Luin did as he bade. They led her to the officer’s quarters. She gave Xahnu to Zyuzin, saying, “Find a place for him to sleep.”

  Then she remembered their prisoner. She turned to him.

  An idea danced at the back of Linden’s mind, but he could spare it neither time nor attention. Pirakos, he bellowed, damn you—don’t give up without a fight!

  To give Pirakos time to recover, Linden flung himself at the phoenix, turning at the last instant before the fiery wings lashed across him. Even so, the heat from those wings was so great, Linden felt as if a burning whip lashed across his wings. He gasped in pain, but retaliated with fire of his own. His ploy worked; the phoenix veered away.

  Yet not for long, Linden knew. He mindcalled Pirakos, Help me, damn it! That thing will set all the countryside aflame!

  *What care I for this land?* came the bitter reply. *The death I have wished for all these centuries is here. This thing will take me, and it may burn the world for all it matters to me. I will not help thee.*

  Gods help them both; the phoenix was returning. Linden knew it would be his death to close with it alone; he had neither the strength nor the old magic of the truedragon. But neither could he let the fiery bird set the land ablaze.

  Bloody coward! he hurled at Pirakos.

  Pirakos’s eyes blazed red hatred at the insult. He raised his forelegs as if he would slash Linden’s wings to shreds. The chains rattled.

  And the errant idea burst forth like a shooting star.

  It’s magic—and you’ve cold iron! Help me!

  For a moment the truedragon simply stared. Then a light filled his eyes, a terrible mix of joy and bloodlust. He threw back his head and roared a dragon’s laugh. *Thee are wise, little cousin. Yes, I die this day—but I take that with me!*

  Before Linden could move, Pirakos hurled himself upon his enemy. He met the phoenix breast to breast; it screamed in surprise. Ignoring the flames that devoured him, Pirakos threw one foreleg around his enemy and clasped it close, like a lover embracing his beloved. The other foreleg ground the shackle that tortured it into the wound in the feathered breast. The iron bubbled and hissed as the phoenix’s blood melted it—and the phoenix screamed in agony as the infection of cold iron entered its body. The blazing wings faltered.

  Pirakos roared again, agony and victory twisted together in a last cry as he and the phoenix fell through the air. Somehow the dying dragon bent his long neck around; a torrent of scarlet flame took the phoenix even as it burst into a holocaust of golden flames. Their bodies were but black shadows within the fire.

  Linden watched, numb with shock, as the two enemies tumbled through the air faster and faster, a flaming ball of whirling gold and scarlet fire. There was nothing to be seen in the heart of it now but a brightness that hurt the eyes.

  Then they crashed to the earth, into one of the temple buildings. The ancient, lacquered wood burst into flame like oil-soaked kindling. Fragrant smoke, smelling of camphor, rosewood, sandalwood and more, billowed up even to where Linden hovered.

  May the gods have mercy upon them, Linden thought. Suddenly every wound ached, every burn tormented him, and he was tired beyond belief. He spiraled downward slowly.

  “Where is Xu?” Shei-Luin demanded.

  Baisha frowned at her, one hand pressed to the wound in his thigh. “It’s not your place, concubine, to question what a lord—”

  Shei-Luin exploded in fury. “Where is my baby, damn you? What have you done with my little one?” she screamed. Her long, painted fingernails slashed across Baisha’s face. “Outlander! It’s not your place, foreign filth, to dictate to the empress and the mother of the heir! Beg for mercy or I shall have you killed.”

  Baisha clapped a hand to his bleeding cheek. His face worked, emotions tumbling across it: hate, anger, then … fear. He darted a look at the impassive eunuch standing at Shei-Luin’s side and the color drained from his face. He shrank into himself.

  Shei-Luin knew what he saw. Murohshei, eyes like flints, still as a statue, hands tucked into wide sleeves. Hands that at her word would draw forth twin daggers and slit this pig’s throat. And Baisha knew it; knew that Murohshei would take as long as she wanted to kill a certain henchman of Jhanun’s slowly and carefully, eking out every bit of pain with loving malice for the theft of her son.

  In a voice as soft as chrysanthemum petals drifting across silk, Shei-Luin said, “I will ask you only once more. Where’s my baby, my little Xu?”

  Baisha heard the razor’s edge behind the silk as she’d intended. Even more color leached from his face. He was now a grey creature, indeed; grey of hair, grey of robes, grey of face.

  “I … I don’t know,” he whispered.

&nbs
p; Shei-Luin dropped a hand in a chopping motion. Like a tiger, Murohshei sprang before the wounded man could move. In the blink of an eye Murohshei was behind Baisha; he seized the man’s hair in one hand and jerked the terrified prisoner’s head back. The other hand held a small but deadly dagger to the exposed throat, its point pressing into the pallid skin.

  “Don’t move,” Murohshei breathed. “Don’t struggle. Don’t make a sound, pig.” The dagger pressed a little harder. A drop of blood appeared.

  “Now, filth,” Shei-Luin said, “Let us see if your wisdom has increased. You know where they’re taking my son, Baisha. You will tell me.” She trembled, barely containing white-hot fury. She let Baisha’s death fill her eyes, let him see it there.

  Talk or you shall die.

  Baisha tried to stare her down. Fool; did he think she was any woman? She was the empress of Jehanglan.

  Sweat broke out on Baisha’s forehead. His lips quivered, and Murohshei slowly, slowly rocked the dagger so that the edge lay against the exposed throat.

  Jhanun’s creature voided himself in his terror. The dagger moved—just a little. So very little.

  “Rhampul!” Baisha squealed like the pig he was. “They bring him to Rhampul!”

  “Why there?” Shei-Luin shot back.

  “The soldiers there are loyal to Jhanun, and some are mountain men. If you send troops for Xu, they’ll hide him where you’ll never find him.”

  All at once Shei-Luin understood. Xu was to be a hostage, just as his father had been. But Xu would have no kindly captor as Yesuin had. Let her move against Jhanun, and her son would die.

  “Kill him!” she screamed.

  The knife flashed across the pale throat and blood spurted out. Dead eyes wide with disbelief, Baisha crumpled to the floor like a pricked bladder. Murohshei wiped the blade on Baisha’s robe and returned it to his sleeve.