Read The Last Dragonlord Online
Authors: Joanne Bertin
The Last Dragonlord (3 page)
Maurynna shook her head to
clear it as she left her cabin. She’d had the oddest dream last night; a pity it had faded upon waking, leaving behind only vague hints that vanished even as she snatched at them.
clear it as she left her cabin. She’d had the oddest dream last night; a pity it had faded upon waking, leaving behind only vague hints that vanished even as she snatched at them.
She inhaled deeply; the early morning air was fresh with the tang of salt. This time of day had always been her favorite. And now that she was captain of her own ship it had a new savor.
She looked down at the wide gold bracelets of rank that covered both wrists. She still had trouble believing it. From first mate to captain in little more than two years; she’d never thought it would happen so fast.
Three trips on her own were not enough to dim the excitement of her new status. Sometimes she woke in the night, thinking Uncle Kesselandt’s gift of the
Sea Mist
and a small partnership in the family business but a dream she’d had. Then she’d remember and drop off again, glowing with a warm happiness.
Sea Mist
and a small partnership in the family business but a dream she’d had. Then she’d remember and drop off again, glowing with a warm happiness.
The wind blew Maurynna’s long black hair across her face. She shook it clear, greeting the sailors on deck, waving to those working in the rigging. From the mainmast high above the deck the Erdon pennant fluttered in the wind: a silver dolphin leaping on a sea of green silk.
She called up to the first mate on the quarterdeck, “All well, Master Remon?”
Remon looked over the rail, one hand still on the ship’s wheel. “Aye, Captain. Kara reported a quiet night with a brisk wind. Keeps on like this, we’ll make Cassori a few days early.”
“Thank you, Master Remon. I hope it continues as well.”
Maurynna walked along the deck, squinting into the sun off the starboard bow, pleased with the world. This trading run had gone well so far. And if the first half was an augury for the rest, she’d do very well indeed. So much for the protests from the senior partners that at nineteen—almost twenty, she amended—she was too young for so much responsibility.
Maurynna walked along the deck, squinting into the sun off the starboard bow, pleased with the world. This trading run had gone well so far. And if the first half was an augury for the rest, she’d do very well indeed. So much for the protests from the senior partners that at nineteen—almost twenty, she amended—she was too young for so much responsibility.
She nearly jigged a few steps for joy, then remembered it was beneath the dignity of a captain to do so. Instead she leaned on the polished rail and hummed.
The door to Otter’s cabin opened. The Yerrin bard stepped out, yawning. A smile crept across his face when he saw her.
“You’re a sleepy one this morning,” she said as he joined her. “Didn’t you rest well last night? You turned in earlier than I.”
“I was talking to a friend late last night,” Otter said, “and had trouble sleeping again afterward.” His smile widened.
“Who?” she asked, idly curious. “Remon?” She knew that wasn’t right even as she said it. For one thing, the first mate rarely stayed up late; he rose at dawn to take the helm. And Otter’s grin said it was someone very different.
He looked around. “Lovely morning, isn’t it? Think I’ll stroll the deck for a bit.”
Maurynna pushed off the rail to stand squarely in his way. “Not until you explain.” She tugged the bard’s grizzled beard. “You’re teasing me—I can tell. You always get that look in your eye. Out with it!”
He looked hurt. “You wound me, Rynna. You’ve known me since you were a child and—”
“Exactly; I know you. Ot-
ter
!”
ter
!”
He leaned on the rail, looked out over the waves, and laughed. Maurynna turned her back to the following wind. She knew she could outwait Otter.
Behind her the crew hoisted another sail, singing a bawdy chorus to keep the time. The creaking lines and the flapping of the canvas formed part of the melody.
At the final “Ho!” from the crew, Maurynna looked over her shoulder to see the woad-blue sail belly out as it caught the freshening wind. The
Sea Mist
leaped forward on the
waves. Otter grabbed the rail. Maurynna swayed with the motion of the ship and pretended not to notice.
Sea Mist
leaped forward on the
waves. Otter grabbed the rail. Maurynna swayed with the motion of the ship and pretended not to notice.
She said, “Now—who was this mysterious friend?”
Slowly relaxing his white-knuckled grip, Otter said, “When we were in Assantik, do you remember that captain telling us that the Cassorin queen had died?”
“Ah—you mean Gajji. It’s old news; Gajji was in Cassori a long while back. It’s tragic about that pleasure barge foundering in a storm, but what has that to do with your friend?”
“A great deal, actually.” Otter smiled, clearly waiting for her to beg him to go on. When she didn’t give in, the bard gave her a fatherly nod, his eyes alight with mischief. “You’ll find out when we reach Casna.”
At her yelp of protest, Otter raised a cautionary hand. “And each time you threaten to keelhaul me, I’ll put off telling you even longer. Mm—perhaps I should wait for your birthday anyway.”
Maurynna’s frustrated curiosity nearly choked her.
Blast
Otter!
He knew she wouldn’t snoop around the crew to find out to whom he’d been talking; it would lessen her standing as captain. She was still new enough to be touchy about her dignity.
Blast
Otter!
He knew she wouldn’t snoop around the crew to find out to whom he’d been talking; it would lessen her standing as captain. She was still new enough to be touchy about her dignity.
“You—you … Pah! Why I ever agreed to give passage to an intolerable, troublemaking, annoying, and outright obnoxious Yerrin bard …” Her fingers itched to pull out Otter’s beard hair by hair.
And the bard knew every thought crossing her mind as if he could read it. She saw it in the laughing eyes. She snarled something rude in Assantikkan and stalked off, feeling a little better.
Otter leaned on the rail again and laughed.
No, she wouldn’t snoop. But she could keep her ears open in case she overheard one of the sailors talking about the conversation.
Yet it still puzzled her. Which one of the crew had Otter been talking to? What had they heard in port that she hadn’t? And why should that sailor care about what was happening
in Cassori? She climbed to the quarterdeck and let the clean salt air blow her annoyance away.
in Cassori? She climbed to the quarterdeck and let the clean salt air blow her annoyance away.
Ah, well,
she consoled herself.
Whatever Otter’s surprise is this time, it will be well worth the waiting. They always are. But must he be such a tease about it?
she consoled herself.
Whatever Otter’s surprise is this time, it will be well worth the waiting. They always are. But must he be such a tease about it?
The field outside of Casna
was jammed with people awaiting the Dragonlords’ arrival. They crowded behind the line of scarlet-clad palace guards who kept the larger section of the grassy sward free. The guards’ tabards shone like splashes of blood against the green of the grass. Banners stuck up here and there above the throng, gold and scarlet and blue, hanging limp in the still, hot air. Folk of all classes jostled and called to one another. Wine-sellers shouldered through the crowd doing a brisk business. It looked as though the entire city had come to see the fabled Dragonlords.
was jammed with people awaiting the Dragonlords’ arrival. They crowded behind the line of scarlet-clad palace guards who kept the larger section of the grassy sward free. The guards’ tabards shone like splashes of blood against the green of the grass. Banners stuck up here and there above the throng, gold and scarlet and blue, hanging limp in the still, hot air. Folk of all classes jostled and called to one another. Wine-sellers shouldered through the crowd doing a brisk business. It looked as though the entire city had come to see the fabled Dragonlords.
Kas Althume stood beneath Prince Peridaen’s canopy, enjoying the shade. Thank the gods his role as Lord Steward of the prince’s lands and possessions entitled him to such comforts; he had no wish to join the sweltering masses in the sun. Still, it irked him he could not sit in public with the prince. Standing like this made the old wound in his thigh ache. He rubbed it lightly.
“That leg bothering you again?” the prince asked.
Althume shrugged. “My leg is not important. This is. Look at the fools,” he said, his voice scornful. He leaned closer to Peridaen. “This might as well be a fair. Look how ready they are to welcome what’s been holding them back for centuries—and glad of it.”
Peridaen shrugged. “They don’t matter. And if the Fraternity has its way, the end will begin here and Dragonlords will cease their interference in truehuman affairs once and for all. Do you think your man has reached Pelnar yet?”
“Pol? He left the day we knew for certain that the Dragonlords would be appealed to. Barring unforeseen accidents, he should arrive there soon. It may take time for him to find
what we need,” Althume said. “It’s been years since I’ve had word of Nethuryn.”
what we need,” Althume said. “It’s been years since I’ve had word of Nethuryn.”
Seated to Peridaen’s right, Anstella, Baroness of Colrane, asked, “Kas—when he returns, do you really think you can loosen the—”
“Quiet, Anstella,” Peridaen said.
She tossed her head. “Don’t hush me, Peridaen—I’m not a child. The servants are well out of earshot. Not that they could hear me above this jabber.”
“Not a truehuman, certainly,” Althume said. “But can the Dragonlords read minds, sense intent? And from how far away? Remember, that’s one of the many things we don’t know about them. Keep all this from your mind if possible.”
Anstella inclined her head, conceding the point.
Althume looked beyond her to the nearby canopy that sheltered many of the younger nobles. One young woman caught his eye. She had the same delicacy of feature and form, the same glorious auburn hair as the baroness. But unlike the baroness, who wore the intricately twined braids of a widow, the girl’s hair spilled unbound down her back. She looked bored. Her lip curled disdainfully at the other young women as they chattered, their voices high with excitement.
Yet her hands belied that seeming aloofness as her fingers toyed incessantly with the rings adorning them. Althume guessed she was as excited as any of them.
“I see Sherrine is not succumbing to the excitement,” he said, sipping spiced wine from a chased silver goblet.
“She knows what is right, not like those empty-headed chits,” Anstella said with a toss of her head. “I’ve taught her well. No doubt they hope to snare a Dragonlord as a lover.”
So she hadn’t heard the sarcasm; he hadn’t expected her to. All too often Anstella heard—and saw—only what she wanted. Despite her dedication, that narrow-mindedness limited Anstella’s usefulness to the Fraternity. A pity Peridaen had taken up with her.
“And if the judges are all women?” Peridaen asked. “Such tears of disappointment!” He sighed and pressed a hand to his heart with a flourish. The movement disturbed the
large amethyst pendant he always wore. It flashed purple fire in the sunlight.
large amethyst pendant he always wore. It flashed purple fire in the sunlight.
Althume smiled thinly. “Even so, there will be male Dragonlords. It is my understanding that Dragonlords prefer not to be separated from their soultwins; the judges will no doubt bring theirs. We may have as many as six Dragonlords descending upon us.”
“Oh, gods,” the baroness said, her voice heavy with disgust. “That many?” Her lip curled much like her daughter’s.
“Calm yourself, my lady. It’s more likely there will be only four. My guess is that two of the judges will be a soultwinned couple; the fourth will simply be accompanying the third judge,” Althume explained.
“So the little fools will still have their chance,” Peridaen said, stroking his beard.
“Not likely. It is said that a soultwinned Dragonlord is immune to seduction.” Althume drank again.
“Pity; it might have sown some dissension in their ranks.” Peridaen shifted in his chair. He beckoned to a page who bore a tray of sweetmeats. The boy hastened to obey. The prince chose one. The page offered the tray to the other two, then fell back out of earshot.
“Well trained,” Althume said.
“I insist upon it,” Peridaen said as he surveyed the field once again. “Hmm—a pity even your magery couldn’t manage a love philter to ensnare a Dragonlord. Blast; I forgot. Because we don’t know if they can sense magic, you’ve had to cease—Damn! Rann is running about. Too much of that and no one will believe he’s sickly. Kas?”
Stung by Peridaen’s slight, Althume angrily craned his neck to see across the field into the pavilion of Duchess Alinya, the interim regent of Cassori. He saw the young prince capering with his wolfhound. He snarled, “I’ll see he gets more of the potion. He must not have received this morning’s dose. It won’t happen again.”
Peridaen grunted, then said irritably, “I still can’t believe Desia signed that warrant. If I’d known …”
“You really had no idea she’d named Beren as regent if the contingency arose?” Althume said.
“None whatsoever. Damned nastiest surprise I’ve had in a long while,” Peridaen said. He scowled.
Althume shrugged. It had been a setback, true, but he’d seized the opportunity to set an even more ambitious plan into action. One always had to be ready.
A scream from the crowd made him look up. People milled about, some shrieking with excitement, all pointing to the sky in the north. He shaded his eyes. After a moment he made out three dots against the blue sky. He searched for, but couldn’t find, any more.
“I thought you said there would be at least four,” Anstella said. Althume couldn’t tell whether she was disappointed or pleased.
He didn’t reply. Instead he watched the dragons approach. And wondered.
Two dragons, one brown, one yellow, flew side by side. Large as they seemed to his truehuman eyes, they were dwarfed by the dark red dragon behind them. Scales glittered in the sunlight. The three wheeled above the crowd, graceful as swallows, momentarily blotting out the sun.
Althume could feel the wind from the powerful wings as their shadows slid over him. All across the field the banners snapped in the sudden breeze, then fell limp again as the dragons passed. People screamed and ducked even though the dragons were far above them. The dragons settled on the grass well away from the crowd.
They dropped the bundles they carried between their forelegs and folded their wings. Then they moved to stand well away from each other, almost clumsy upon the earth. Their claws scored the turf. The yellow dragon limped; its right hind leg was smaller than the left.
And still no other dragon winged down from the north to join its fellows.
“I don’t understand,” Althume said. He was aware of an unreasoning annoyance deep inside. The Dragonlords had proved him wrong. And he had rushed to the edge of the
canopied area to watch them as though he were one of the common herd of fools. That Peridaen and Anstella had done the same was small consolation. “Where is the other one? There should be at least one more.”
canopied area to watch them as though he were one of the common herd of fools. That Peridaen and Anstella had done the same was small consolation. “Where is the other one? There should be at least one more.”
On the field, a red mist surrounded each dragon, drawing more shrieks from the crowd. Moments later three human figures stood in their places. One stood head and shoulders above the other two. Althume could see the long clan braid of a Yerrin hanging down the man’s back as he joined the others.
A glimmer of an answer came to Althume. He tensed. “Peridaen—I must see who the Dragonlords are. If the third one is who I think—”
Looking surprised, Peridaen nodded. “Since I’m a claimant for the regency, I suppose I must greet our … honored guests—” he spat the words “—and be civil. No one will think it odd if you come with me. But what—?”
“If I’m right, the fools have played right into our hands.” The memory of Peridaen’s doubt stung Althume again.
We’ll see if even a Dragonlord is a match for my magic!
“And do be cordial,” Althume continued. “But don’t worry; it won’t be for long.” He shook his head in mock regret. “Not long at all.”
We’ll see if even a Dragonlord is a match for my magic!
“And do be cordial,” Althume continued. “But don’t worry; it won’t be for long.” He shook his head in mock regret. “Not long at all.”
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