The Last Dragonlord (27 page)

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Authors: Joanne Bertin

BOOK: The Last Dragonlord
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The journey along the Processional
had never seemed so long. Kief and Tarlna rode beside him; as they chatted gaily, Linden tried to think how to tell them what had happened. And ahead was the tree where Maylin and Kella always waited to wave at him. He wondered if they’d be there today. He rather doubted it. Still, he stretched up in the saddle and searched the crowd.
To his surprise they were in their usual spot. His heart lightened; perhaps Maurynna had realized that he was concerned only for her safety and had talked some sense into Maylin. He smiled and raised his hand before he realized that Kella was not waving and giggling as she always did. The child sat in her sister’s arms, watching him with wide, sad eyes, then turned her face away. That hurt him more than Maylin’s glare, which bade fair to flay the skin from his back. A moment later they disappeared into the crowd.
Linden took up the reins again with both hands and set his lips.
What was that about, Linden? Your new kinswomen seem furious with you,
Kief said, astonished.
There was enough venom in that look to fell a dragon.
That was to let me know what they think of me after last night—Maylin’s idea, I think. For such a soft-looking little thing, she’s as fierce as a snow cat.
Is something wrong between you and your soultwin?
He sighed. The moment he’d been dreading had arrived.
Ah, well—yes. Although Sherrine and I had an understanding, she took exception to my keeping company with Maurynna.
Once more the cold fear at seeing Maurynna’s bloodied face
rocked him. He didn’t realize how strong the image was until Kief’s shocked exclamation rang in his mind.
Gods help us—did she lose the eye?
Linden said,
No, thank the gods; it looked much worse than
it was. He quickly told Kief and Tarlna, who had picked up her soultwin’s distress and was demanding an explanation, all that had happened the night before.
And earlier this morning I spoke with Sherrine. It was not … pleasant. I think I’ve made an enemy of her; she was furious that I took the part of a “commoner” against her.
Oh, aye—a “commoner” who just happens to be a fledgling Dragonlord, Tarlna said in disgust. These Cassorins and their obsession with rank. By their own law Sherrine should be the one punished.
Kief observed,
That “obsession” is a sword that cuts both ways; it’s what allows us to do our duty.
It is still an insult to Dragonlords,
Tarlna insisted.
With no way to seek redress,
said Linden bitterly.
And Duchess Alinya was right; it would be folly to call more attention to Maurynna by continuing to see her—at least for now.
Especially if she’s correct that some troublemakers fancy themselves the Fraternity reborn, Kief said. I wonder—could she be right?
Even if she is, they’d need a powerful mage to be truly dangerous. Have you heard any rumors of such a one?
Tarlna pointed out.
No,
Kief admitted.
And thank all the gods for that,
Linden added.
The Processional climbed the gentle hill leading to the palace. Linden stared sourly at the granite walls rising before him. The last thing he wanted was to sit through another interminable council. The first person to annoy him would get his head snapped off.
Once again Kief spoke in his mind.
While I sympathize with you, I must admit that I always thought it would have been best if you’d stayed away from your soultwin until she’s Changed. I take it that this estrangement means you will not
be going to that coming-of age feast with her?
Linden groaned aloud. The guards riding alongside darted surprised and concerned glances at him; he ignored them.
Gods help him, he’d forgotten about the
tisrahn.
He shouldn’t go; best to make the break clean until he could get away from Cassori, and seek Maurynna in whatever port she sailed to next. He thought,
I’ve lasted more than six centuries without my soultwin. Lonely, yes, but I made do. Why is the prospect of a few more tendays such hell?
There had to be a way.
Inspiration
dawned. Keeping his mindvoice carefully diffident, Linden said,
But if I don’t go, I dishonor my host, Almered. And that will dishonor House Erdon, my new kin—Almered’s family is leagued with them. After all, if Maurynna and Almered’s jests are more than that, he’s also kin—if somewhat distant. I’m Yerrin, Kief, I can’t insult family that way. You know that.
With your first Change you became Dragonlord before Yerrin,
Kief pointed out.
All the more reason to behave in an honorable manner,
Linden said.
So I shall go to the
tisrahn. He looked over at the older Dragonlord.
Kief’s glare rivaled Maylin’s.
Someday, little one, that stubborn streak of yours will get you into trouble.
Linden grinned as they rode into the courtyard.
It already has, my friend, and no doubt will again. But not this time, I think.
 
“Your Highness—here are the accounts you wished to see,” Althume said as he presented himself, estate books cradled in his arms, to Prince Peridaen in the latter’s study.
Peridaen looked up from the supper he and Anstella were just finishing. “Ah, good, Kas. We’re finished, Yulla; you may clear the table. We’ll need plenty of room for these books.”
Peridaen leaned back in his chair, smiling benignly at the servants as they scurried to do his bidding. Althume waited humbly by the empty fireplace. Anstella looked amused.
As soon as the last servant had left, Prince Peridaen dropped his pose of affable royalty. “Now what, Kas? I daresay you’ve already heard Sherrine’s made a pretty mess of this. Seemed the whole wretched council couldn’t wait to tell us about it this morning.”
“I knew the little fool couldn’t do it right,” Anstella said scornfully. “A very pretty mess, indeed, this is.”
Althume set the books down with a thump. “On the contrary, it’s to our advantage—for, you see, there’s been a slight change in plans. I’ve spent the past few hours looking over a manuscript that Pol brought back with him along with the soultrap jewel. It’s made up of certain notes of Nethuryn’s from long ago. With those notes, my translations of Ankarlyn’s tracts should prove much easier.
“I also found, among the notes, a recipe for a drug that bears a notation that it is of Ankarlyn’s devising. I would dearly love to put it to the test on one of the Dragonlords. Were one of them under its influence, I would be able to question him or her to my heart’s content. And the crowning jest is that afterward they wouldn’t remember what happened to them.”
Anstella laughed. “How deliciously ironic.”
Peridaen grinned like a schoolboy with a pouch full of stolen apples. “I like that. Do you intend to try it?”
“I would love to, but there is one slight problem with it,” Althume admitted with a wry twist of his lips. “Judging by the ingredients, it would be quite bitter and very odd tasting. I’m afraid it would be noticeable in a meal.”
Peridaen stroked his beard. “So concealing it in food is out. Hm. That is a problem. Could one of the Dragonlords be overwhelmed and forced to take it?”
“Possibly. I was thinking along the same lines,” Althume said.
An amused laugh made both men turn to Anstella.
“Men,” the baroness said an amused tone, as if she spoke of an entertaining—but rather backward—pack of puppies. “Always thinking force is the answer to everything. Think,
my lords; think. There is indeed something such a drug could be hidden in.”
Althume looked to the prince; Peridaen shrugged his ignorance.
“What?” the mage asked, nettled that Anstella had found an answer so easily to the problem.
Anstella smiled. “What is expected to be bitter? A farewell cup, of course.”
Annoyed, Althume exploded, “For the sake of the gods, Anstella, are you thinking of Sherrine and Linden Rathan? Do you honestly think he’d accept any such thing from her after what she did to that girl?”
“I wouldn’t,” Peridaen said. “And neither would Linden Rathan; the man’s not stupid.”
Now Anstella fairly purred. “But he would—if there were witnesses. Think! He’s a Dragonlord. He can’t afford to look mean-spirited and petty, can he? Especially over some commoner. And petty he would look, did he refuse a cup offered in … sincere repentance.
“No, my lords, take my word for it; if Sherrine offers him a farewell cup before a goodly number of the nobles of Cassori, Linden Rathan will drink it even if it chokes him.”
By all the gods, she was right; so simple an answer … Althume smiled like a wolf.
“Anstella, that’s brilliant,” Peridaen said. He caught her hand and kissed it. “Absolutely brilliant. But where would there be such a gathering of witnesses? Sherrine can hardly burst into the council.”
“Not the council, Peridaen,” Althume said. “But there could be an occasion … .” He caught Anstella’s eye.
The baroness nodded and smiled slightly. “Just so; I think we have the same idea, Kas. Leave it to me. Can you be ready on short notice? I may not be able to give you much warning.”
“Yes. Once the drug is compounded, it simply needs to be dropped into a cup of wine. The beauty of this is that, in itself, it is not magical. There will be no risk of warning
Linden Rathan that way. It merely sets the stage for the spell to follow.”
“Good,” Peridaen said. “That just leaves Sherrine. I’ll order her—”
“No,” Althume interrupted. “Don’t. Not yet. I want her to do this of her own free will, if possible. If her heart’s not in it, she might well warn him. I want her to come seeking help from you.”
“But how to get her to want to do it?” Peridaen objected.
Anstella’s smile turned from mysterious to pitiless. “Leave that to me as well.” She glanced at the time-candle. “In fact, if you will excuse me, my lord, I believe I shall pay my daughter a visit this evening. I’m certain she needs … comforting this night.”
With that, Anstella rose gracefully; Peridaen stood as well. He escorted her to the door where they exchanged a brief kiss.
When she was gone, Peridaen returned to his seat and poured out two goblets of wine. “Do you think it will work?” He pushed one goblet across the table.
“Likely better than trying to overpower someone Linden Rathan’s size would,” the mage admitted as he joined the prince at the table. He drank.
“So—what else is involved in this change in plans you mentioned?” Peridaen asked.
“I still intend to use the soultrap jewel, but not quite as we planned. You’ve heard the legend that Ankarlyn enslaved a fledgling Dragonlord?”
“Of course. But it’s just a legend, Kas.”
“I don’t think so—not anymore. And I’ll know for certain if I can question Linden Rathan.”
Peridaen frowned. “And if it is true about the fledgling? You intend—”
“To enslave Sherrine, of course. As a member of the Fraternity, she should be prepared to lay down her life. It may not come to that.”
“This isn’t something that can be done quickly, is it?”
Peridaen asked, an odd note in his voice. “That is, you weren’t planning on doing it tonight.”
“No. The soultrap jewel will need to be charged,” the mage replied. “That will take time.” He wondered at the look of guilty relief that flashed across the prince’s face.
“Isn’t that dangerous—to begin your ceremonies again?” said Peridaen. “Could the Dragonlords sense them?”
“A chance I’ll have to take. But I’m confident that I’ll be too far away for them to detect.”
Peridaen shuddered. “You’ll be at that place again?”
“I will. It’s warded and has long been dedicated to such workings. There’s a considerable amount of innate power already there, and that will aid in charging the jewel. And once it’s charged …”
Althume shrugged and watched Peridaen narrowly as the prince struggled with the idea.
“Ah, gods, I wish there was some other way. I don’t know how I’ll face Anstella after this.” Peridaen buried his face in his hands. “I don’t like this.”
“We must all make what sacrifices we can for the Fraternity. And are you so certain that Anstella will be upset? There seems to be little love lost between mother and daughter,” Althume said.
Peridaen’s head snapped up at that. “Don’t be a fool,” he exploded. “However it looks, and however much Anstella derides the girl, she is still a mother. I’ve never been able to understand what is happening between them or why it’s like that. But I do know that if anyone else dares insult Sherrine—even if they’re simply echoing something she just said—Anstella will be at their throats like a mother bear defending her cub. Twisted as this bond may be, it is still that of mother and child, and that is a thing even a mage would do well to fear. If you value this scheme of yours, don’t tell her what you plan.”

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