The Last Dragonlord (31 page)

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Authors: Joanne Bertin

BOOK: The Last Dragonlord
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It was barely a half-instant before the others answered; it felt like an age.
Linden? What’s wrong? Where are you?
Kief demanded.
Why aren’t you here yet?
Tarlna chimed in.
Confused, Linden said
“Here”? Where’s “here”?
Lord Sevrynel’s estate,
they both answered. Tarlna said,
It’s another of his impromptu gatherings and this one was especially for you. It was to show off some new brood mares from Kelneth. Didn’t the messenger find you?
He remembered the rider in the blue-and-orange livery
earlier.
No, I was out riding. And hang Sevrynel and his gatherings! This is important. I’ve got to talk to you; can you two find somewhere private?
He felt them withdraw slightly while they discussed the problem. Then:
Give us a few moments.
He waited in an agony of impatience until he felt their minds again.
You’re not going to like this,
he said.
Then he told them all he’d found.
When he finished, there was a moment of stunned silence. Then, so faintly he could barely hear it, Tarlna said,
Oh, dear gods—no.
Are you certain?
Kief said. The bleakness in his mindvoice told Linden the older Dragonlord was grasping at straws rather than truly doubting him.
As certain as I can be. But I’m not a trained mage; none of us are. All I got were impressions, really.
We’ll have to investigate it further,
Tarlna said. The force of her revulsion made Linden’s flesh creep in sympathy.
I think I know how to,
Linden said. An idea was forming at the back of his mind; he hid it from the others. He didn’t like it but he could see no other way.
But Kief must have picked up something in his tone.
You’re not planning anything rash, are you, Linden?
No,
Linden said, keeping a tight rein on his emotions.
I just want to fly over it in dragon-form; I suspect I’ll be able to “see” more.
You may well be right. When do you intend to do it?
After full dark. I don’t want to take the chance of being seen. No sense in alerting whoever’s responsible that Dragonlords are interested, is there?
Kief asked,
Do you want one or both of us to go with you?
Ah—no, Linden said. It would look suspicious if you leave suddenly. People will wonder why. It’s best I go alone.
So be it,
Kief said at last.
We’ll stay as a distraction.
But Tarlna tried to argue him out of it. She desisted when he finally yelled at her,
Do you have any better ideas?
No,
she had to admit.
Neither do I,
Linden retorted.
Now let me go; I want to rest and eat before I do this.
The others withdrew reluctantly.
Linden wiped a hand across his forehead. Thank the gods he’d finally been able to break the mindspeech link; he didn’t know how much longer he’d have been able to hide the full extent of his plans.
He just hoped he wasn’t about to commit suicide.
 
“Where the blazes is he?” Peridaen whispered to Anstella as they watched the revelers milling about the Earl of Rockfall’s great hall.
“I don’t know,” Anstella snapped back. “He should have been here by now. Look—there’s Sevrynel talking to the other Dragonlords. Perhaps our answer is there.”
“He doesn’t look happy,” Peridaen said, and drank. “And neither am I. I want this over with.”
“Hush. Here he comes.”
When their host drew near, Anstella beckoned to him. “My lord,” she said when he joined them, “isn’t Linden Rathan coming?”
If possible, Sevrynel’s stooped shoulders drooped a little more. “No, my dear Baroness. The other Dragonlords just had mindspeech with him. It seems that he had other business to attend to and never got my invitation. Oh, dear. And I did so want his opinion of my beautiful ladies … .” He half turned away, shaking his head in a distracted manner as he meandered off.
“Oh, for—” Peridaen began.
“Go tell Ormery,” Anstella hissed in his ear, “and leave this to me.”
With that, she broke away from Peridaen’s side, knowing he would send the servant to warn off Sherrine and Althume. She would deal with Sevrynel.
She caught up to him and slid her arm through his. He blinked at her in surprise; before he could say anything, she smiled warmly at him, knowing well the effect it would have.
It did. The man looked as if he’d been pole-axed.
“Poor Sevrynel,” she said, her voice low and husky and rich with sympathy. “I’m so sorry. But perhaps—just perhaps, you could do this again? I know Linden Rathan will be so sorry he missed this; Sherrine told me he thought very highly indeed of your horses.” She squeezed his arm.
An idiotically happy smile lit Sevrynel’s face. “Truly?”
“Truly.”
“Hm. Let me think.” He twisted one end of his sweeping mustache around and around a finger. “Tomorrow?” he murmured.
Anstella bit back a fierce grin of triumph.
“No, not tomorrow.” He shook his head. “Tomorrow is Lady Telia’s dinner and I’m attending. No, not tomorrow night.”
He trailed off, muttering to himself. Anstella refrained from boxing his ears. But if they hadn’t needed this fool …
Sevrynel said happily, “But the night after is free! I can do it then.”
“My lord,” Anstella said. “You’ve no idea how happy I am to hear that. How very happy.”
She withdrew her arm from his. “The day after tomorrow it shall be. Until then—farewell, my lord.”
Linden slipped out of the
house late that night, saddled the gelding himself, and rode alone out of Casna.
It was more than a candlemark later before he found what he wanted: a large meadow with a stream so that the gelding could drink and eat, and another field beyond with enough room for him to Change—and far enough away that he wouldn’t panic this idiot horse.
Long practice made quick work of settling the gelding. It immediately began to tear at the lush grass. Linden left it and jogged off. He refused to think about what he planned to do.
As he trotted through the long grass, memories of long ago returned. He’d done much the same thing on a hot summer’s night centuries back while a member of Bram and Rani’s company. Nor had the feeling of mixed excitement and apprehension dimmed with the passage of the years. He lengthened his stride and ran for the sheer joy of it, deliberately pushing away the thought of what was to come.
At last he stopped and looked back to see if he’d gone far enough. Linden nearly laughed to see how much ground he had covered. Throwing his head back and lifting his hands to the stars, he let himself melt into Change before he had second thoughts.
He reveled for a moment in the power of his dragon body, then leaped into the sky. Wing stroke after powerful wing stroke swept out and down as he spiraled up into the starry night. When he judged himself high enough, Linden stretched his wings out and hung in the air like a gigantic hawk. He took his bearings and angled east.
The air flowed over him like warm silk, soft and smooth against the skin stretching between the vanes of his wings.
Sister moon hung in the sky, watching him as he flew over the fields and meadows outside of Casna.
His sharp dragonsight pierced the night, searching for anything unusual. His long neck curved as he swung his head from side to side.
Nothing that interested him as a man—but something that caught his draconic half’s interest: sheep. They were penned together by a hut at the edge of a field well away from the forest. This shepherd took no chances with wolves; he had obviously never considered dragons.
Linden dropped lower. His mouth watered at the sudden blast of rich, muttony scent from below—though the thought of gulping down raw sheep still in its fleece made him queasy. Rathan thought it a wonderful idea.
Absolutely not,
Linden said firmly. To his relief Rathan subsided. He just hoped he’d be able to subdue Rathan again later on.
The sheep bleated in terror as he passed overhead. No doubt the shepherd would be looking to see what had disturbed his flock and Linden had no desire to be seen in this form by anyone. He stretched his wings and flew faster.
In far less time than it would have taken him to ride there, Linden hovered high above the uncanny clearing in the woods. To his dragon eyes the place glowed with a faint but disquieting sickly green light. He nodded to himself.
So; he’d been right that he might see more in this form. Yet he was certain there was even more than this to see. He hoped he wasn’t about to make the worst mistake of his life, gods help him.
He could just imagine what Kief would say. “Idiot” and “fool” would be the least—and politest—of it. Tarlna … Best not to think about what Tarlna would say. Even Lleld, known for leaping first and looking long afterward, would be appalled.
Linden deliberately relinquished control to Rathan.
The draconic half of his soul startled into full wakefulness. Linden greeted it from his new position as “bystander.”
Wary, Rathan asked,
*Is it time, then, humansoul Linden? Does thee wish to pass on?*
No, Rathan; I’ve not yet tired of this life. But there is something here that I do not fully understand and I think you would know more than I about such things.
If he’d been in control of their body, Linden would have held his breath. As it was, he waited in an agony of suspense. With rare exceptions, the dragon half of a Dragonlord’s soul was content to wait until his human counterpart tired of life. But if Rathan decided that
his
time was now come, there was nothing Linden could do; Rathan was by far the stronger. He was used to light touches of Rathan’s personality—such as the argument about fresh mutton—but this was well-nigh overwhelming. He prayed he’d not committed the gravest folly of his life.
*Then thee is either very foolish or very brave waking me like this.
*
But there was a wry amusement behind the words that reassured Linden. It confirmed his long-held—and very private—belief that the dragons let their human counterparts rule for so long because the dragons found them entertaining.
Rathan continued,
*Be reassured, humansoul Linden. I promise thee I will wait until my proper time. Now—what is this thing thee wishes to show me?*
Down there. Do you see it?
He felt Rathan contemplate the magical clearing.
*Faugh! It is a vile thing,
* Rathan said in disgust.
*It stinks of dark magery.
*
Linden asked eagerly,
Of what sort?
Though he grumbled, Rathan dropped lower and stretched out his senses to touch the magical resonance below. At first there was only darkness, then—
Mind-wrenching fear burned into Linden’s consciousness, the mortal terror of a soul spiraling down into darkness as it was torn from life, screaming helplessly in agony.
His was that soul. He was the one lying bound upon the cold stone, waiting for the knife to plunge down. And now it was falling, seeking his heart—
Linden wrenched his mind free from the vision as Rathan flung them back and away, screaming in draconic rage,
burying Linden beneath his fury. Linden found himself shut away within Rathan’s mind, all his senses blinded, as though he’d been wrapped in a blanket and thrust into a chest. He knew nothing of the world outside; his world had narrowed to this body and he was suffocating.
Rathan! Rathan—please!
Linden begged as he fought to stay alive in the fire of Rathan’s anger.
You’ll kill me!
He felt the dragon draw in a deep breath, knew that Rathan intended to wipe this foulness from the face of the earth. A tiny voice at the back of his mind said,
No—the woods are too dry; it’ll spread everywhere, even to the farmers’ fields.
The realization frightened Linden into redoubling his efforts to break into Rathan’s consciousness once more. But it was like beating against an iron door while bound hand and foot.
The great mouth opened; Linden felt the rumble of the flames as they passed down the long throat.
With an effort that came near to tearing him apart, Linden fought with Rathan for control of their body. He couldn’t stop the flames, it was too late for that, but perhaps—
As the great head snapped up, a huge gout of fire shot harmlessly into the night sky like some strange shooting star. Rathan bellowed, turning his rage on Linden.
Remember your vow!
Linden screamed as the dragon’s fury consumed him. He writhed as Rathan tore at him. Gods help him, he never thought to die this way.
Then—peace. For a moment Linden thought he must have died. Slowly it came to him: he was alive. Barely.
Rathan said with sullen fury,
*I remember my vow, humansoul. But I will also remember that thee stopped me from destroying this sore upon the body of Mother Earth. I understand why, so I forgive it. But now I charge thee to see to this foul thing’s destruction. Does thee understand, humansoul Linden?*
I understand, Rathan,
Linden said, weak and shaking.
One moment he was bereft of all his senses, held in thrall by Rathan’s power. The next Rathan was gone. Linden was plunging headlong from the sky before he realized that he once more controlled their body. Only the frantic beating of
his wings saved him from crashing into the ground. Shaken, he soared into the sky and drifted on the wind, numb with shock.
It was long before he came fully to himself. At first he was confused by the unfamiliar terrain below him. Then he realized that he’d drifted south and further east than he’d yet been. Below him was the shoreline.
Tall rocks marched along the edge between water and sand. But between them and the cliffs was a wide expanse of beach, wide enough for him to Change. He swooped down and began Changing while still in the air. A few heartbeats later he landed on booted feet, bending his knees to take the shock and staggering a little as the sand shifted beneath him. Then he was pulling off his clothes as fast as he could.
Linden ran down the beach and threw himself into the sea. Let the clean salt water wash away the taint of the sacrificial altar, the taste of his own mortality, the memory of the fear and pain; he wanted to be free of all of it. He battled the waves, letting them toss him this way and that, until he felt cleansed.
Gods, what a fool he’d been; he wasn’t certain he deserved to come through that so little scathed. But he was thankful he had. He hauled himself out of the water, tired beyond belief. He dressed, feeling more at peace with himself, if not completely healed.
Once again he let himself flow into Change. But this time there was a hesitation to it, something he’d felt only a few times before when he was either ill or injured. It was his magic’s way of telling him that he was not really strong enough to spend the necessary energy so freely. He would heed that warning; once back to man-form he’d not Change again for a few days at least.
Once aloft, he decided it would be easiest to follow the coastline until he found a familiar area. The updrafts from the cliffs would do much to spare his strength.
He tilted his wings and glided west along the coast. At one point he recognized the beach where they’d had the picnic. The memory cheered him a little.
Some time later he saw the standing stones guarding their headland. Wary but curious, he dropped a little lower.
The area of the headland around the stones glowed with a gentle silver light to his dragon eyes, the stones themselves brighter pillars of silver and gold. Once more he felt the humming in his bones; this time it was stronger, growing as he dropped lower. The magic here was like a balm to the seared and tattered edges of his soul. He glided over it, his wingtips almost brushing the tallest stones, grateful for the easing of the last of the pain and terror.
He gave the area of the clearing a wide berth and came down at last in the field near where the hobbled gelding waited. This time it was even harder to Change.
As he rode back to Casna, slumped in near exhaustion, Linden thought over what he’d learned.
Not very much, after all, and I don’t like what I did discover. But who’s responsible for the sorcery? Does it even have anything to do with the Fraternity? And what can three Dragonlords do against it, anyway? We’re creatures of magic, not mages!
 
By the time Linden reached the house once more he was shaking. He guided the gelding to the stables and sat for a moment, gathering the strength to dismount.
He told himself it was just reaction, that he’d be fine once he rested a little and ate something, had a bit of wine to restore him. Of course, if he couldn’t get out of the saddle … He debated calling for a groom to help him. But if the grooms were sound sleepers, he’d have to yell loud enough to wake half the house; the fewer people who saw him like this, the better.
A figure detached itself from the shadows. Surprise lent Linden a brief surge of strength. He sat upright.
“Boyo,” said a familiar voice in Yerrin, “where have you been and
what
have you been doing? You look like something the cat threw back.”
Truth be told, he felt like something the cat threw
up.
Linden closed his eyes for a moment in relief. “Thank all the
gods it’s you, Otter. But what are you doing here? Wait—let me get down.”
With Otter’s help, Linden dismounted without falling. Together they led the horse into the stable. Linden didn’t argue when Otter insisted he sit and leave the horse to him.
“As for what I’m doing here, Kief mindcalled me earlier. Seems he was worried about something you were up to—though he wouldn’t tell me what; very secretive, he was. But he and Tarlna didn’t want to come here themselves because it might cause comment, their hanging about so late. But everyone knows we’re friends and that bards are unpredictable creatures anyway, so it wouldn’t seem odd if
I
did. Now—what in the world were you doing, you big idiot, to get yourself into such a condition?” Otter waved the hoof pick threateningly at him before going back to cleaning the gelding’s feet. “And why is Kief being so cautious about being seen here?”
Linden rubbed a hand over his eyes. Gods, but he was going to have to sleep soon. But first he had to report to Kief and Tarlna, a thing he was not looking forward to. Nor did he relish telling his tale more than once. “Let me get some food and wine before I fall down. Then I have to mindcall the others; I’ll let you ‘listen’ in.”

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