The Last Dragonlord (35 page)

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Authors: Joanne Bertin

BOOK: The Last Dragonlord
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“You! she cried.”Take me up with you! I must find the Dragonlords.”
The cloaked and hooded rider made no motion.
Maylin stamped a foot in frustration. “Are you deaf, man?
Hurry!” She scowled up at him, wondering if she could dump him from the saddle and take the horse. Not likely, considering her height. She’d have to bully him. “You fool—listen to me!”
“I am,” the rider said calmly. “And if you are truly looking for the Dragonlords, why then—”
He swept the hood back from his head, and with the same six-fingered hand brought forth a ball of light from the air. He leaned down.
“You’ve found one,” said Kief Shaeldar. “Now—what is this about?”
Maylin stared open-mouthed at
Kief Shaeldar. Before she could gather her wits, he caught the ball of coldfire and brought it down to illuminate her face.
“I know you,” he said. “You’re the one with the little girl that Linden waves to each morning.” Then, sharply, “Now what is this about? Be quick, girl, for I must cross the river.”
He looked out across the Uildodd, frowning. It was plain he barely tolerated her delay.
Another bolt of lightning and a long, rumbling peal of thunder gave Maylin time to find her tongue. She said, “My—my cousin knows Linden Rathan. She knew something was wrong—I don’t know how—but—”
He cut her off. “Your cousin? She ‘knew something was’—Of course—Maurynna!”
Maylin nodded. All at once his entire being was focused on her with an intensity that frightened her. She spared a moment to wonder why Maurynna’s name would invoke such a change in the Dragonlord, then poured forth her tale.
She had barely finished when Kief Shaeldar jumped down from his horse. He turned as if to run to the open area before the landing, and then stopped.
“Damn, damn,
damn
!” he snarled. “Not enough room to Change! Ferrymen—can you cross one more time?”
“If we hurry, Dragonlord—the river she’s rising fast! But yon horse’ll be too much weight.”
With the speed of a striking snake Kief Shaeldar caught her up and set her upon the horse. Too surprised to protest, Maylin snatched the reins he threw at her. Before she could speak he had jumped into the ferry. At once it receded into the darkness; Kief Shaeldar’s voice called out of the night,
“I hope you can ride, girl! Follow the coldfire.”
Stunned, Maylin nodded, forgetting for a moment that he couldn’t possibly see her. Or could he? The tales said that Dragonlords’ eyes were sharper than truehumans’.
She looked up at the ball of coldfire as it revolved slowly in the air before her and swallowed hard. “Lead on, then,” she told it.
The coldfire obediently drifted along the track. Maylin backed the horse and turned it. It seemed a well-mannered, willing animal; she hoped it wouldn’t spook at the stirrups swinging loose against its belly. Small as he was compared to Linden Rathan, Kief Shaeldar was still much longer of leg than she.
But the horse seemed not to mind as it ambled along. Bereft now of her mission and its all-consuming urgency, Maylin suddenly realized just how cold, wet, and miserable she was. Each drop of rain seemed determined to slide down her tunic’s neck. She hunched her shoulders and shivered. The night was vast and empty around her; only the coldfire seemed cheerful as it bobbed along.
She wanted to kick it; nothing should be that blithe on a night like this with all that was happening.
Maylin was half asleep and nodding in the saddle when she realized that what she had taken for distant thunder was in truth the pounding of horses’ hooves on the road ahead of her. At first she thought that the group of riders drawing closer carried torches and wondered how they kept them lit in this downpour. Then she realized that the “torches” were more balls of coldfire. Her own guide abandoned her and raced to join the newcomers.
One rider stopped before her. The others formed a ring around her.
She looked into the glittering blue eyes of Tarlna Aurianne. At the Dragonlord’s gesture, one of the other riders flung a cloak about Maylin’s shoulders. She huddled into it gratefully, rubbing the fur-lined softness against her cheek. Another rider offered her a skin of wine. She drank, the hot spiced wine warming her as much as the cloak.
When Maylin returned the skin, Tarlna Aurianne leaned forward and studied her. Maylin shifted uneasily; she’d been teased too many times about the odd-colored eyes she shared with Maurynna.
But Tarlna Aurianne only smiled and murmured, “Yes, you would be kin. You have the look about you.”
Confused, Maylin said, “Um—aside from the eyes I don’t look that much like Maurynna.”
Tarlna Aurianne’s mouth quirked. “It’s there for those that can see, child.” She sounded amused. “You’ve done much for us tonight. The least we can do is offer you a warm bed and dry clothes. Come along.”
 
The coldfire was barely glowing now. Maurynna ignored the tears and rain flowing down her cheeks and gently wiped blood from Linden’s face. During his last fit—the worst yet—he’d bitten his lip. Fearing that he would bite his tongue next, she slashed a strip from the bottom of her tunic and forced the folded cloth between his teeth.
Could he have the falling sickness?
she wondered. One of her childhood playmates had had it.
But Naille’s fits never lasted this long that I can recall.
She wished she could remember more about it.
The muddy
plop-plop
of a horse’s hooves on the road startled her. Linden’s attackers were returning! She laid him down and grabbed Maylin’s sword since it was closer. But her legs had fallen asleep; she fell as she tried to stand. Cursing herself for a fool, she knelt before Linden, teeth bared, determined to take at least one of them with her.
 
It wasn’t until she was tucked into the most luxurious bed she could imagine, a hot brick wrapped in flannel comforting her cold feet, that Maylin remembered Maurynna had never said anything about meeting the other Dragonlords—just Linden.
Tarlna Aurianne doesn’t know what Rynna looks like—so how could she know whether I have the “look” of kin or not?
Her earlier speculations from the barge bounded back into
her mind, clamoring to be noticed like a pack of unruly puppies.
I shan’t,
she told them firmly,
pay any attention to you. You’re nothing but moonshine.
She turned them out again, rolled onto her side, and fell asleep.
 
“Halloooooo! Rynna! Rynna—are you there?”
She couldn’t believe her ears. “Otter?” she screamed, wild with relief. “Otter, is that really you?” She staggered to her feet despite the pins and needles stabbing her legs.
She heard him urging the horse up the bank. Moments later she felt the ground quivering under the flying hooves. “Here! We’re over here!”
The horse came to a sliding stop in front of her. Otter flung himself from the saddle like a man forty years younger. She fell into his arms, crying.
“How—how did you know?” she sobbed as she led the bard to where Linden lay.
“Kief Shaeldar mindspoke me,” Otter said grimly. “He met Maylin on the other side of the river. I was on my way home when he told me as much as he knew. He’s on the ferry now. Rynna—what happened? Who were those men?”
She shook her head as she knelt beside Linden again. “I don’t know.” She controlled her sobs with an effort. “I don’t—Otter, help me get him sitting up again. It seems to ease his breathing.”
Together they arranged Linden so that he rested against Maurynna’s shoulder once more. When Otter tried to give her his cloak, she shook her head. “I’m already soaked. Are you certain Kief Shaeldar is on his way?”
Otter stretched a hand out to the coldfire, but drew it away as though afraid he’d somehow hurt the feebly glowing ball. “Yes. Seems he tried to mindspeak Linden, but could sense only pain and blackness. That alarmed Kief so much he went looking for Linden and met Maylin on the way.”
The bard brushed a lock of wet hair from Linden’s face. “All we can do is wait, Rynna. And pray.”
The knowledge that Otter now sat across from her on Linden’s other side comforted Maurynna, even though she knew that he could do no more than she.
She remembered something. “Linden spoke once. He said to ‘ask question.’ Does that make any sense to you?”
Otter shook his head. “None whatsoever. You’re certain? Hm—what could it mean?”
Suddenly the bard surged to his feet. His trained voice bellowed across the field, “Kief! Over here!”
Maurynna looked over her shoulder. A figure ran across the wet grass at a speed that few—if any—truehumans could match. A silvery ball of coldfire lit Kief Shaeldar’s way.
He slid to a halt by them. “Let me see him,” the Dragonlord ordered.
Otter stepped back. Maurynna clung to Linden, reluctant to let him go. She braced herself to argue should Kief Shaeldar order her away, but to her surprise he said nothing, simply took Linden’s chin and looked closely into his face.
At last Kief Shaeldar sat back on his heels. “Black magery!” he spat. “Get back—both of you. I need room.”
Before she could refuse, Otter grabbed her and dragged her back. “Don’t be stupid, Rynna,” he said when she struggled. “He needs room to Change!”
She went with him reluctantly. But it was Otter who stopped after only a few yards.
“Ah—Kief?” he said. “Do you think this is wi—”
“Get back, curse it!” the Dragonlord roared as he flung his cloak to the ground.
“On your head be it, then.” The bard grabbed her hand and pulled her along until they reached the edge of the bank.
Maurynna clung to Otter as lightning flared and a red mist surrounded Kief Shaeldar. A second bolt revealed the ghostly figure of a dragon. Her head swirled. The crack of thunder that followed nearly deafened her. She cried out and shut her eyes. From a great distance she heard the squeal of a frightened horse and pounding hooves, then Otter’s disgusted voice saying, “That tears it, Kief. That horse won’t stop until the middle of next tenday.”
But now she fell through an unending night. And there were voices in the darkness, great golden voices, more beautiful than anything she’d ever heard. But she couldn’t understand what they said, and if she didn’t, she’d die. She didn’t want to die—not yet. She had to find out what the voices were saying to her … .
“My lord? What will become
of Linden Rathan?”
Althume glanced at the servant riding beside him. “I’m not certain, Pol. It is truly unfortunate that those travelers came when they did.”
Pol grunted assent. Then, “Does Prince Peridaen know?”
“That the potion I gave Sherrine could kill Linden Rathan? No. A pity we had no time to administer the antidote, but there it is. If he dies, it will be awkward for us, true, but if the gods will it so—” He shrugged. “It will fall out as it will. I will not worry the prince with maybes and might-bes.”
His only real worry was, if Linden Rathan died, how would it affect his plans for Sherrine?
 
Pain blazed through the darkness. Maurynna gasped and opened her eyes.
Why was she lying on the ground with Otter bending over her? Puzzled, she put a hand up to her stinging cheek and knew that he’d slapped her. He looked relieved and angry at the same time.
“I tried to tell you,” he said to the brown dragon crouching over Linden.
Oh, gods, is she well?
The words were faint, like someone whispering up in the rigging. But they were inside her head. And she somehow knew she wasn’t meant to hear them. Well and well; she’d not let on that she could.
And after everything I’ve said to Linden. He’ll have my head.
The thought of Linden brought Maurynna upright, though
her head still spun. “Can you Heal Linden?” she pleaded. “You can, can’t you? Your Healing fire—”
The voice spoke in her mind once more. This time it rang as loudly as a watch bell, rough with anger and fear.
I’m only a Dragonlord, not one of the bleeding gods! I’ll do my best, but—
The great scaled head reared back. The mouth opened, revealing long, wickedly sharp fangs. Kief Shaeldar spread his wings slightly and drew a deep breath. Then he lowered his head once more. Blue-green flames rushed out past the deadly fangs and washed over Linden. Once, twice, three times the flames played over the stricken Dragonlord. After the third time Kief Shaeldar stepped back. His long neck and wings drooped.
Maurynna broke away from Otter and stumbled to Linden. Without thinking, she seized Linden’s ball of coldfire. It burned a little brighter now—not much, but the light was steadier. And his color and breathing were better. For the first time she began to hope.
I must return the coldfire to Linden,
Kief Shaeldar apologized.
It costs him energy that he can ill afford right now. I’m sorry; I know he’d like you to have it if possible.
The big head dropped to her level, turned a bit so that one big eye watched her. Part of her mind noted that the iris was vertical like a cat’s. She wondered why he cared for her feelings. The coldfire disappeared from her hands.
Help me pick him up; I’ll take him back with me. Maurynna—take my cloak; it will be a long, wet walk.
Between them, Maurynna and Otter lifted Linden to the cradle formed by Kief Shaeldar’s front legs. The brown dragon gently closed one six-clawed forefoot around Linden, holding him securely to the scaled chest. Then Kief Shaeldar rocked back onto his hind legs, doubled his long neck back on itself, and spread his wings.
“Come on!” Otter yelled, and pulled her away at a run. Surprised, Maurynna went without protest. She looked back in time to see Kief Shaeldar spring into the air, his neck
snapping forward as if to cleave the sky above him, wings beating in short, powerful strokes.
She dragged Otter to a halt, ignoring the rain that beat against her face. The rush of air displaced by those wing strokes rocked her a moment later; she understood then why Otter had pulled her away. Any closer and they would have been knocked over.
Then the vertigo claimed her again and she was falling into forever. She dimly heard Otter calling her name, but was trapped inside her tumbling mind and couldn’t answer. For one glorious moment she soared through the lightning-streaked sky by Kief Shaeldar’s side; the next she spiraled into darkness.

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