The Last Dragonlord (16 page)

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Authors: Joanne Bertin

BOOK: The Last Dragonlord
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Linden spent a miserable night
tossing and turning, his mind running in circles. In the grey hours before dawn, he finally gave up the battle. He dragged the quilt from the foot of the bed, wrapped it around himself, and went to sit on the windowseat.
His eyes were gritty with lack of sleep. He rubbed at them. The glass was cold on his forehead as he rested his head against the windowpane. He stared outside, listless, drained.
Kief was right. His soultwin was in danger from him. For her safety, he had to forgo what he wanted and the desire he’d seen in her eyes. Yet already the urge to join with her tormented him. Rathan was quiescent now, but how long would that last? He knew he’d not be able to stay away from her, not completely. But would seeing her, talking to her, make it easier or harder? Everything in him cried out for her.
Gods, but this was not going to be easy. He shifted. The quilt fell away from his shoulder; he ignored the chill against his skin. The sky outside was lighter now with the first peach and apricot shades of approaching dawn. He yawned, wondering if he could get an hour or two of sleep before the servants came to fill his bath.
He looked over at the bed. No—it wasn’t worth the effort to get up. He settled back.
All at once Rathan lashed at him, driving him mad with desire. The raging passions of a mating dragon scorched him as Rathan urged him to seek his soultwin, join with her. Linden cried out in torment. Breath by slow breath he pushed the draconic half of himself back. Rathan subsided, his sullen rage burning like a hot coal.
Linden’s temper was no better. He couldn’t shake off Rathan’s
black fury. He threw the quilt back onto the bed and snatched up a pair of breeches. He hauled them on, then threw open the door.
“Aran! Gifnu’s bloody hells—where’s my bath?” he bellowed. He heard squeaks and yells of surprise from the servants’ quarters. Moments later two frightened young serving men tumbled half-dressed into the dim hall. They stared at him, bleary-eyed with sleepy surprise.
“Well?” he demanded. A small part of his mind scolded him for taking his temper out on the servants. He throttled it. “I want my bath and breakfast—now!”
Aran, the house steward, stumbled into the hall, his hair sticking up every which way. “Now, Dragonlord? But—”
“Now, blast it!” He slammed back into his room. The servants twittered outside, astonished at the change in their easygoing Dragonlord. Then came the sound of running feet as they hastened to obey.
He couldn’t wait any longer. He mindcalled Kief. The elder Dragonlord was inclined to surliness at first.
Kief,
Linden said, trying to still the turmoil in his mind.
I’m sorry to wake you.
Kief’s black mood vanished. He said sympathetically,
Rathan’s after you, isn’t he? Would you like us to delay the meeting until this afternoon so that you can start looking for your soultwin? I wish for your sake we could dispense with it altogether today, but …
Linden went limp with relief. Kief was giving him what he needed before he’d even asked.
I understand. Just give me the morning. I have to at least start looking; I feel as if I’ll lose my mind if I don’t.
I can give you until midday,
Kief said. Then, faintly, as Kief withdrew from the contact:
Luck to you, little one.
Linden whispered, “thank you” to the air. He reached out with his mind again.
Otter? Otter, I need your help.
Otter’s reply was so clear that Linden suspected the bard was already awake.
Now, boyo? It’s barely after dawn.
Now,
Linden said.
I’m on my way.
 
 
Although the draconic rage had subsided, Linden was still in a foul mood. For no matter how carefully he carried his harp while in dragon-form, he always managed to break a few strings on it. To distract himself until Otter arrived, Linden had decided to restring the instrument.
It was a mistake. The cursed strings would
not
go right. The new ones kept slipping, fraying his already shredded temper even more. He forced his touch to remain delicate.
The door creaked a little as it opened slightly. He snarled, “What?” but there was no answer. Instead, it opened wider. He didn’t bother looking up. Just let Aran get within range and he’d blast the man for his temerity, entering without leave.
“My, my—aren’t we in quite the temper this morning?” a dry voice said.
“Huh? Otter!” Linden jumped up, almost dropping his harp. “Oh—yes, I suppose. Oh, gods, but I’m glad to see you!”
Otter regarded him with a speculative eye as he shut the door. “You had me fooled about that. And they’re tiptoeing around out there, boyo. What in blazes did you do? And why?”
The bard settled himself in one of the chairs, neatly flipping his long, iron-grey clan braid out of the way. “Give me that before you break the pegs, you big ox. Between your mood and your strength you’re going to destroy a fine instrument.”
Grateful, Linden dumped harp and strings into Otter’s lap. For a moment he watched Otter’s practiced fingers make quick work of the stringing before sitting back down in the windowseat. “I’m not in a foul mood.”
“Re-e-e-ally?” Otter drawled. “I never would have guessed—what with waking me up at first light and your loving greeting just now.”
Linden laughed; he couldn’t help it. “Very well, then. I guess I am being rather a wretch this morning, aren’t I?”
Otter snorted. “No ‘rather’ about it, Linden—I’d say ‘definitely’
myself. So—what is this all about?” He played a few notes on the harp. “Beautiful instrument.”
“Thank you,” Linden said. He hesitated, unsure how to begin.
As if to give Linden time to collect himself, Otter looked around the richly furnished sleeping chamber. “Very nice,” the bard said, “if a bit overdone for my tastes. And how do you like it yourself?”
Linden shrugged. “Too ornate, but it gives me privacy. I didn’t fancy the river estate I was offered. Too big; I would have felt lost in there by myself. When I said I’d prefer a private house to the castle quarters I was offered next, the owner volunteered this one for my use. Do you intend to continue staying with that merchant family? I thought you would stay here.”
Otter grinned. “Maurynna will throw me off the
Sea Mist
if I do. Gods help me, boyo—forty years I’ve known you and this is one of the few times I’ve seen you blush!”
Linden mumbled something and stood up. For some reason the encounter with Harn last night had made him uneasy. He’d learned to pay attention to such feelings when he was with Bram and Rani. That was how mercenaries stayed alive. Feeling a little foolish, he went to the door and looked up and down the hall. There was no one in sight. He shut the door and went back to sit down across from Otter.
“Trouble?” Otter said, sitting up straighter.
“I don’t think so—just an odd feeling.” He hesitated a moment, then plunged in. “I need your help. The ship’s captain—Maurynna, you said?—would she know who was unloading her ship? After I talked to you yesterday I wandered down to look at it. Now I need to find the leader of the crew of dockhands that was working there.”
“Dockhands?” Otter looked perplexed. “But why? Did he steal something from you?”
“She,” Linden corrected. The wild elation filled him again. He said softly, “It’s over, Otter—my waiting.” He watched realization dawn in Otter’s eyes, joy spread across the bard’s face.
“Oh, gods. Linden, you’re not jesting, are you? No, of course not; not about this. Thank all the gods she’s come at last.” Otter’s eyes looked suspiciously bright. “What’s her name?”
Linden groaned. “I never found out. If I had asked hers, I would have had to tell her mine. Do you think your friend the captain will be at the ship now? I—I’d like to begin looking.”
“I should think you would! Shall we go now, or do you have a council meeting this morning?” Otter said.
“No. The meeting’s been put off until midday.”
Otter set the harp aside and stood up. “Let’s be off, then. Your lady may even be back there this morning to finish the job if it wasn’t completed last night. If not, we’ll start looking for her. And if we can’t find her, we’ll ask Maurynna. She’d be delighted to help you any way possible.”
Linden bounded to his feet. “Done,” he said.
 
“Rynna! Don’t walk so fast, please. My legs aren’t as long as yours,” Maylin said crossly. “We’ll be there in plenty of time.”
She was annoyed. Maurynna had a ground-eating stride. But she and Kella took after their mother: little and plump, “like partridges,” as Father said. There was no way she could comfortably keep up with the pace Maurynna was setting.
Especially in this weather. The heat was oppressive, the air so humid it was hard to breathe. Merely walking quickly made her sweat. With luck there would be a storm before long to clear the air.
Maylin had no intention of arriving at the Processional red in the face and puffing like a grampus. Kella, riding on Maurynna’s shoulders, had no such worries.
Maurynna slowed down. “I’m sorry,” she said.
She sounded so apologetic that Maylin was mollified. “No harm done. And I do understand, but I would feel silly fainting from the heat at his feet as he goes by. With my luck Lady Sherrine would be with him again; she has been on occasion.”
Maurynna asked, “Who’s Lady Sherrine?”
“Just the most beautiful of the young women at court.” Maylin looked around before continuing in a lower voice, “And a flaming bitch. She buys most of Mother’s woods lily perfume—which is a good thing, because that scent is so strongly associated with her, no one else at court buys it. They don’t want to be thought competing with her, I guess. Luckily a few wealthy merchants buy the rest. But
gods
is she a proper pain to wait upon.”
Kella giggled.
Maylin continued, “Gossip is that she’s the one he’s chosen for a dalliance, which shows remarkably little taste on his part, I think. Still, I daresay she’s taken care that he’s never seen that side of her. And Kella, don’t you dare tell Mother I said that about Lady Sherrine.”
Kella nodded. “I won’t. But if she’s so mean, then why does he have a dally … dally—” Her face contorted. “What is a dally-thing?”
Maurynna smiled. “Dalliance, gigglepuss. It means they’re—”
Amused, Maylin waited to see how Maurynna would get out of this one.
“Keeping company together,” Maurynna finished. “And as to why, because he must be lonely. He’s the only Dragonlord without a soultwin.”
“But why is Linden Rathan lonely? Doesn’t he have any friends? What’s a soultwin? And why are there Dragonlords?”
Maurynna reached up and tugged a lock of Kella’s hair. “What, gigglepuss? Don’t you know how Dragonlords came about? No? Where’s that wretched bard when you need him? He ought to explain this.”
Maylin shrugged. The pace had quickened once more; Maurynna in her eagerness was walking faster. Maylin hadn’t the heart to complain again. So she kept her reply short and concentrated on not getting too out of breath. “Went out very early. You tell her—else no peace.”
Maurynna said, “Listen well, then, small stuff. Long, long
ago, people lived in small tribes and clans, and there was peace between them.
“But one shaman—in what would become Yerrih someday—sought knowledge in places and ways that were evil. And he grew ambitious. Maybe a demon got into him, I don’t know, but Red Deer Bearson wanted to rule over all the land and there was bloodshed where before there had been peace. Then he tried to get by magic what he couldn’t get by war. But the working went awry. Wild magic stalked the land and times were evil indeed. Even the truedragons were caught by it.
“But one good thing came of it all. Somehow the wild magic caused the first Dragonlords, and who do you think the first one was?” Maurynna asked.
“Who?” Kella demanded.
“Red Deer’s own son, Fox, who became Fox Morkerren. His father tried to use him, but he rebelled against the endless wars. He and his soultwin Morga Sanussin stopped Red Deer after a great battle, and then began the long work of rebuilding the peace that had existed before. Fox Morkerren promised that never again would a Dragonlord make war, that they would instead seek to avert it, and that in this way the Dragonlords would serve humankind.
“He and Morga were so wise and just, that the leaders of the tribes and clans pledged themselves in turn to accept the young Dragonlords’ counsel, and to honor Dragonlords. And so it has gone to this day, that the Dragonlords are called in when there is need.”
“Oooh,” said Kella. “I like that story. Will you tell it to me again sometime?”
“Tell you what, gigglepuss, I’ll get Otter to tell you; he does it much better. And as for what a soultwin is, well, a Dragonlord is born when a dragon soul bonds with a human one before birth. Then the souls divide, and each Dragonlord has a soultwin, the person with the other halves of the two souls. All the Dragonlords have a soultwin—all except Linden Rathan. That’s why he’s called the Last Dragonlord.”

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