Dragon and Phoenix (70 page)

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Authors: Joanne Bertin

BOOK: Dragon and Phoenix
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She wanted to call to him, tell him she was sorry but this was for the best. Yet she knew there was no consolation for the way he’d been outguessed and, yes, tricked into letting her get so close to him. Instead, she followed without a word. It would do no good to rub his nose in his failure.
Still, she couldn’t help thinking,
Thought you’d nothing to fear from a middle-aged woman like myself, did you, boy? Never underestimate a mother, my fine lad—or any woman for that matter.
 
Maurynna shifted in the saddle, trying to ease her sore muscles. Boreal whickered softly to her as he felt her move. She leaned forward and patted the dappled grey shoulder. “I’m well enough, boy. Someday I’ll get used to this.”
And pigs will dance.
Well and well, she could always hope.
Ahead of her Shima rode easily, following a trail that was invisible to her, but plain, it seemed, to him. To take her mind off of her physical discomfort, Maurynna began wondering what they would face once they reached their goal: the mines in the valley of the Temple of Iron.
And once there, how was she expected to get away again? Surely the soldiers would be hunting her and Shima. To the best of her remembrance, that little detail had never been discussed—or at least not in
her
hearing. Even Zhantse had not Seen how they were to do it; he just blithely assured her that they would come up with some idea.
How comforting, she thought with a scowl. As comforting as finding one’s ship aground on a reef with a hole the size of a bear through the hull, and a storm from the depths of hell on the way.
Perhaps she’d think about how much her rear end hurt instead.
 
The sun had gone down perhaps a candlemark or more ago before they caught up with the Zharmatian scouts who trailed the troop.
“They’re over that rise,” one of them said, “riding along the road as if they own it. We let them see us earlier; they’ve been trailing us ever since, but they’re all in armor and are too slow.” She grinned as if this was the best game in the world.
“Shall we go see?” Dzeduin said. “I suggest we leave the horses down here; they’d show up on the ridge.”
“Good idea,” said Linden.
Soon they were lying in a row, only their heads peeping over the hill. Below them on the other side was an empty road winding between the ridges.
“Listen,” whispered Lleld. “They’re coming.”
Sure enough, the vanguard of the troop came into sight. At their head rode a man dressed in a dark Jehangli robe.
“Damn!” the four northerners said at once.
Dzeduin jumped.
“It’s not Taren,” Linden explained.
“Still, they’re with the lord who’s with that bastard Taren,” Lleld pointed out. “Wish we could put their noses out of joint somehow.”
“Dzeduin,” Otter said slowly, “once, when talking to Taren, he told me about some Jehangli legends. Do you know of the things called ‘corpse lights?’”
“Oh, yes; they’re very bad luck to meet. If one touches you, you’ll die before a year is out,” Dzeduin said.
Linden listened with half his attention, vaguely wondering what Otter was getting at. The soldiers on the road below would soon reach where the Zharmatian scouts had turned off. There was no way, Linden knew, their trackers would miss the trail, not with so many torches holding back the night. The men below knew their business.
Otter persisted in his questions. “What color are they? How large? How do they act?”
“Blue as a corpse’s lips, the stories say. As for size—perhaps a man’s fist?” Dzeduin replied in puzzlement. “They dance in the darkness, around and around their prey, seeking souls to join them. Otter, why do you—”
Linden began laughing quietly the same time Lleld and Jekkanadar did. “Shall we?” he said to them.
For an answer, three balls of coldfire sprang into existence above the road ahead of the troop.
Dzeduin hissed in surprise. He scrambled back as if he would run.
“Don’t worry, lad,” Otter said, putting out a hand to stop him. “It’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“Hunh,” Lleld grunted softly. Her brow furrowed in concentration. “It’s not easy creating them from this distance.”
“Indeed,” Jekkanadar agreed. “There!” Six balls of blue coldfire now danced in the darkness.
They were right. Until now Linden had always called coldfire into existence from the air around him. This was much harder; but once created, even from this distance it was easy to control them. He sent his coldfire to join the others.
“Let me have them,” Lleld said. From the wicked glee in her voice, the men below were in for a bad time.
Linden gave control of his coldfire over to her. Immediately, the glowing blue lights spread across the road as if to contest the soldiers’ coming. Then
they advanced, first one, then another, darting forward with the speed of a striking snake, stalking the soldiers like cats.
And now the Jehangli saw them. Startled yells carried up the hillside. The band pulled up short, some soldiers hauling back on their horses’ mouths so hard that the poor beasts sat down. Linden winced, remembering the harsh bits the Zharmatians used; these looked like more of the same.
The line of coldfire lashed out, curling around the soldiers like the length of a whip, trapping them within a slowly revolving circle of lurid blue “corpse lights.” Now and again, one would dart in at a rider, veering off just short of touching him.
The shouts of alarm now held a note of panic as the soldiers dodged the ill-omened lights. Then their leader bellowed orders, telling them to form up once more. Lleld swore as they slowly obeyed, drawing strength from their leader.
“Ah, bother him,” Lleld said. Her hands swept through the air as if the coldfire were puppets and she the puppeteer tugging their strings here and there. The coldfire leapt in response. “Give me more,” she demanded, her eyes intent on the scene below.
Linden obeyed. So did Jekkanadar. More coldfire burst into light.
The newcomers were too much for the soldiers. One trooper, wielding a torch like a mace, swatted frantically at a light darting at him. He missed the coldfire, but a companion wasn’t so lucky. The second man caught the blazing torch full in the face. His scream of agony pushed his fellows over the edge into mindless panic.
Lleld thoughtfully left a gap open and the troop was not long in noticing. There was a frenzied scramble to turn the horses; some of the animals nearly went down. Then the troop fled back down the road in a terrified rout.
To his credit, their leader was the last to leave; one light of a particularly sickly blue flung itself after him, touching down light as a feather between his shoulder blades, illuminating the man’s back for a moment before rejoining the other globes of coldfire.
Linden frowned. That last bit was a nasty touch he wouldn’t have thought Lleld would stoop to. It disturbed him. She had a wicked sense of humor, yes, but not cruel. At least the poor beggar hadn’t seemed aware of what had happened.
“That was uncalled for,” Jekkanadar snapped.
At first Lleld said nothing. Then, in an odd, strained voice, “Both of you—bid your coldfire to go out. I’ll do the same with mine,” she said.
Baffled, Linden did as she asked. A blink of an eye later, only one dancing light was left—the one that had touched the Jehangli. It wandered along the road as if seeking something, hesitating at the place the scouts had turned off.
“That one,” said Lleld far too calmly, “is none of mine.” She jumped up and ran down to Miki as the ghastly blue light inched along the scouts’ path, like
a hound baffled for the moment, but sure of its trail in the end. She flung herself into the saddle and wheeled the little mare around. “I suggest we get the hell out of here,” she yelled, “because that one’s real!” The little Llysanyin mare raced off.
For once no one argued. As he helped Otter down the slope to the horses, somewhere in the back of his mind Linden wondered if this was the first time in her life everyone agreed with Lleld wholeheartedly. Without further ado, the rest of the party scrambled into their saddles; the next moment they thundered over the crest of the next gentle hill, following Lleld and Miki down the other side.
While they rode, Linden wondered if corpse lights ever haunted a large camp. He sincerely hoped not.
 
Kwahsiu caught up with his men and, with a generous dose of whip, curses, and threats, stopped them some three
ta’vri
down the road. They huddled around him, their faces masks of terror in the light of the torches they carried.
The Dragonlords had been out there—of that, he was certain. This was some trick of theirs; he’d never heard of that many corpse lights at once.
He looked from man to trembling man, and decided he might as well call off the search for the northern weredragons. These dogs would refuse to hunt that quarry any longer.
“Back to the barracks,” he said. “Tomorrow we start for Rivasha.”
For lack of anything better
to do, the morning after being foiled by Lark, Raven decided to explore the land around the
mehanso
on foot. So he went out, picked a direction, and began walking.
Soon he found himself among the garden plots of the Tah’nehsieh. To his northern eyes they looked odd; instead of large fields of grain, there were strips running along narrow irrigation canals. Laid out between the canals were little gardens thickly planted with crops both known and unknown to him. He recognized gourds and beans, but what were the tall, thick stalks that supported the vines? They bore a long fruit tightly wrapped in its own leaves. Walking carefully along the path worn between the vegetation, Raven decided on a closer look.
He examined one of the strange fruits. There seemed to be only one or two per plant, and they grew directly from the thick stalk. A tassel of silky threads protruded from the pointed end. They were turning from a soft golden color to a brown. Gingerly he squeezed the odd growth at its thickest part. It was hard beneath his fingers.
“Not ripe yet, I guess,” Raven murmured.
“On the contrary,” a voice piped up from behind him—in Yerrin. “See the color of the tassel? That means the maize is nearly ready to pick.”
Raven jumped and whirled around, one hand on his belt dagger. “Who’s there?” he demanded.
From the next garden plot, a hand waved from what appeared to be an impenetrable tangle of vines. “One moment.”
A crouched body scuttled sideways from under the jumble of vines and unfolded itself, revealing a long, lanky boy of perhaps fourteen years. The boy pushed a stray lock of hair back from his forehead with one hand; the other held a clump of weeds. He had an air about him that made him seem older than his years. “You must be Raven.”
If the language hadn’t already given him away, the nose would have. The boy’s parentage was stamped on his face as it was on Shima’s. And there were only two of Lark’s brood Raven had not yet met, and one was female.
Raven said, “And you’re Tefira, yes?”
Tefira’s face lit in startled appreciation. Then he sighed. “It was the nose, wasn’t it? You’re not another Seer.”
“No, thank the gods,” Raven said fervently.
“Ah. I thought you might help me.”
Raven wondered at that a moment. If the boy had a question, why didn’t he just ask his master, Zhantse? Why would Tefira need help from another Seer?
He caught himself before he asked. Of course—this was the one that Shima was worried about. What had he said about him? That Zhantse had taken Tefira as an apprentice Seer and—Damn; he couldn’t remember the rest.
“Mmph,” Raven said instead.
Tefira tilted his head to one side. “But I might be able to help you.”
“Oh?” Raven asked, his interest piqued. “How?”
Dark eyes narrowed, watched him steadily. “You wanted to go with my brother and the Dragonlord, didn’t you?”
“I
should
have gone with your brother and my friend,” Raven corrected with no good grace. “But your master decreed otherwise. I still don’t believe his so-called vision.”
And if he said it enough times, he might even convince himself of it.
The boy shook his head, sending his long black hair flying. “Oh, no—trust Zhantse’s Seeings. He Sees true. And I hear in your voice that you know it as well.”
Raven scowled. He didn’t need some snot-nosed brat—
Ah, hell—he might as well be honest. He was angry because the boy looked so much like his brother Shima, may that bastard get saddlesores in the worst spot. “So how can you help me?
Now Tefira looked sly, and Raven saw that he was holding back a smile. “Zhantse said that you weren’t to go with them, yes?”
Raven shrugged, annoyed. Why bother to ask? Of course the boy knew the answer already. The whole damn tribe knew, no doubt. “Yes.”
“Just so.” The smile blossomed. “But he didn’t say you couldn’t
follow
them, now did he?” With that, Tefira gazed at him, all doe-eyed innocence.
Raven stretched his lips in something that wasn’t even meant to resemble a smile. “I already tried that.”
And if it hadn’t been for your damned mother …
It still riled him how she’d anticipated his clever plan. It was even more infuriating that he’d left himself open to a possible attack by her. Some bodyguard.
“So you did. But you see, had you succeeded then, you would have caught up with them, and gone with them. That would have fulfilled Zhantse’s vision. But if you leave now …” Somehow Tefira managed to look even more innocent. “Interested?”
Raven caught his breath, thinking. The boy was right. True, it was splitting hairs as finely as any lawspeaker in a court of clan elders … .
Never mind that. The boy was right, damn it all.
“I’m interested. Now, what’s in it for you?”
The startled look on Tefira’s face made him laugh. “Don’t ever try to trade horses, boy,” Raven said. “At least, not with me. When I see someone looking at me more innocently than a newborn baby, I know there’s something afoot. Out with it, Tefira. It can’t be money; I don’t have much, and what I do have wouldn’t do you any good.”
The air of maturity that had so impressed Raven slipped at last. “Shima gets all the adventures,” Tefira complained, “and I never get to do anything. Just fast and go on vision quests that …”
“I … understand,” Raven said at last into the sudden quiet. A Seer—even a Seer in training—who couldn’t See wasn’t much use to anyone. No wonder Shima was worried about this one.
As if he’d never interrupted himself, Tefira went on, “Shima is the one to go hunting if we need it, he’s the one to carry messages to the different
mehansos
or to the plains tribes. Me, I have to learn what plants to use for a thousand and one ailments, where to dig the sacred colored clays and the prayers for each one, and memorize chant after chant after chant. I never do anything exciting. I’ve never even seen the ship that brings the trees for the Vale.”
Tefira scowled horribly at the weeds he still held as if just noticing them. “Oh, I forgot. I also get to weed the gardens,” he said, and pitched the offending tangle of greenery as far as he could.
“So your price is to go with me,” said Raven.
“Just so. You need me, you know. I can get supplies; you can’t—my mother will be watching you. Also, you’d never survive this land alone.”
“So your mother warned me.”
Tefira dusted his hands on the seat of his kilt. “She spoke the truth. So you’ll take me with you as your guide when you go?” he said eagerly.
“
If
I go,” Raven said.
Crestfallen as a puppy with a slapped nose, Tefira asked, “What do you mean?”
Knowing it was silly—he’d walked, after all—Raven still looked over his shoulder. There were other Tah’nehsieh working in other gardens but that didn’t concern him. None of them could understand Yerrin even if they were close enough to overhear. He beckoned Tefira closer.
“There’s a slight problem … .” Raven began.
 
Haoro stood before the priests’ council. “We must have a
nira
, and quickly,” he said. His gaze swept the men sitting at the table. Only three were of sufficient
rank to challenge him, and of those three, one was already sworn to him. Of the two left, he knew one for a coward; Kuulu would never seek the feathered mantle.
That left Remui. Haoro met his eyes; was that a challenge he saw there?
Then the floor shook. And even though none of them was sealed to the beast below, pain lanced through them all. Haoro forced himself to stand firm even as the others bent beneath it.
His face grey, Remui said, “I will begin the preparations for the ceremony,
nira
.”
 
That evening, in the cool of the dusk, Raven rode Stormwind out beyond the
mehanso.
As was their habit morning and evening, they went a mile or so to a dry wash; its sandy bottom was perfect for a long gallop. From there they often spent the day exploring the surrounding countryside.
But this time was different. A figure wrapped in a colorful
jelah
sat atop one of the many low columns of red stone at the head of the path leading to the dry riverbed. It was as motionless as the stone beneath it.
Stormwind slowed and turned his head to examine the mysterious being with one eye as they approached it.
“I don’t see any weapons, boy. Do you?” Raven said, fighting to sound natural. He must have succeeded since Stormwind only shook his head and kept trotting.
Damn; who
was
it under that blanket thing, anyway? He wouldn’t put it past Lark to have guessed this one, too.
As they drew even with it, the shrouded figure held up a hand.
“I have a message for you.” The
jelah
fell back.
Raven strangled a sigh of relief barely in time. “You’re Zhantse’s apprentice Seer, aren’t you?” he said. He saw Stormwind’s ears tilt forward in interest.
“Just so,” the youth said. His voice was cool and distant. “I am Tefira. And this is my message: you are to travel to the valley of the Iron Temple to aid the youngest Dragonlord. I shall be your guide. This is a needful thing; be ready at dawn tomorrow.”
With that, Tefira stood up in a a single graceful motion. He said no more, nor looked back as he jumped down from the column and disappeared among the boulders. A few moments later, Raven heard a horse’s whicker of greeting and then hoofbeats moving away.
“Sooo—this is a change, boy, isn’t it?” said Raven. “Looks like we’re going on that journey after all.” To his relief, Stormwind nodded after a moment’s hesitation.
Thank the gods, we’ve put that one over Stormwind. Clever of Tefira to phrase things that way; made it sound like one of Zhantse’s prophecies without actually saying so and lying. And speaking of prophecies—damn, but the boy
has the intonation down pat, doesn’t he? If I didn’t know better, I’d swear that oracular tone was real.
Raven smiled a little as Stormwind started down the trail to the wash. My, my—wouldn’t Maurynna be surprised? Served her right, too; if everyone else had been sensible from the first, he would be with her and Shima now. Hell; the gods only knew what they might be facing and only two knives between them against who knew how many swords.
What good a
third
knife would be against those swords, he refused to consider. He’d find a weapon; perhaps he could jump a guard. He turned Stormwind back to the
mehanso.
They both needed a good night’s sleep. He and Tefira would have to ride hard if they were to catch up with Maurynna and Shima.

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