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Authors: Joanne Bertin

BOOK: Dragon and Phoenix
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Standing in the center of the room, directing the maids, stood Xahnu’s nurse, a woman of middle years. She held the Phoenix heir on one hip.
Xahnu caught sight of his mother and crowed with delight. The nurse turned, frowning when she saw Shei-Luin.
“I’ll take my son,” Shei-Luin said, holding out her arms. Xahnu lunged for her.
The nurse pulled him back. “It’s not done so,” the nurse huffed. “I am his nurse, and—”
Shei-Luin smiled, all silk and steel. “And I say that this day is a holiday for you. Give Xahnu to me. Or must I speak with the Phoenix Lord?”
Fear entered the nurse’s eyes then; it was well known in the palace that Shei-Luin was the jewel of the emperor’s eye. One did not make an enemy of the First Concubine—not if one could avoid it. She passed Xahnu to his mother.
Shei-Luin kissed her son’s forehead as his sturdy arms wrapped around her neck. “Come, little phoenix, today is a day of celebration,” she crooned to him.
As they left the nursery, Shei-Luin wondered if she could talk Xiane into letting her visit Xahnu. By custom, the concubine-mother of an heir was not allowed to visit, and thus influence, the future emperor.
Xiane’s own mother had been allowed to raise him, but only because she’d been a favorite of the old emperor, and because Xiane had had two older brothers; no one had ever thought he’d become emperor.
As Shei-Luin carried the precious weight of her son through the halls, she vowed to see that custom changed.
 
“May the gods help us all,” Linden said, realizing what the arrival of the five truedragons might mean.
Otter said slowly, “It could be true?”
“It would seem the truedragons think so,” Maurynna answered. “Else, from all I’ve heard of them since coming here, I see no reason they would leave their mountain holds otherwise.”
“One of them is old Morlen the Seer,” Lleld said, her voice barely audible.
“What!” Linden exclaimed. “Morlen? But why is he—why are any of them here?” If it hadn’t been for the shock in Lleld’s eyes, he would have suspected her of having him on.
“I don’t know,” Maurynna said. “We just saw them come back with Kelder.”
“Kelder?” Linden asked, confused now. When had Kelder gone to fetch truedragons?
Maurynna frowned. “Didn’t you see him—oh, of course not. He was out of sight by the time you came out on the balcony this morning. And then I forgot because—” She stopped.
Linden hoped his face was not as red as his soultwin’s.
Otter coughed and hid a smile behind his hand. Raven’s lips thinned to an angry line. The stunned look left Lleld’s face; a knowing grin replaced it.
“You were … distracted?” she sniggered.
“Lleld!” Linden said in warning. It didn’t stop her snickering. He ignored her in the hope that she would stop. If the gods were kind it might even work.
And rivers would flow uphill.
Perhaps
—“I owe you an apology, Raven. I’m sorry. If you’re willing, I’d like to hear the full story, as much as you know about the captive truedragon,” Linden said to the young Yerrin.
That did the trick. If there was one thing Lleld prized above all else, it was news; she turned greedy eyes on Raven. “The captive truedragon—you know about it?”
Linden held up a warning hand. “Lleld, not so fast. We’ve still no proof—”
Lleld ignored him, reached up and caught Raven’s elbow. “Have you broken your fast yet, lad? No? I’m Lleld Kemberaene. Here, come and tell m—tell us everything as you eat.”
Surprise banished the smoldering anger in the boy’s face. “As you wish, Dragonlord,” he said politely to Lleld as she propelled him to a table.
It was a while before they were all settled and food was brought to them. Then Jekkanadar arrived and they had to find a place for him as well, Lleld excitedly telling him about the truedragons. At last they were ready. To Lleld’s obvious frustration, Raven began eating. At Linden’s nod, Otter took pity on Lleld and acquainted her, Maurynna, and Jekkanadar with what he and Linden already knew.
At one point while his great-uncle spoke, Raven picked up a slice of bread from the serving platter and looked around; without a word and hardly taking her eyes from Otter, Maurynna pushed one of the three little clay jars on the table to the young Yerrin. The blue-glazed one, not the green jar with rose-hip jam or the brown with elderberry in it. Raven accepted the jar without examining the contents and dribbled honey onto his bread. It was plain that that was what he’d expected.
It filled Linden with unreasoning jealousy that Maurynna would know Raven’s wants, that she would be so aware of him, that Raven would accept it with no surprise.
Don’t be stupid,
he told himself.
Of course she knows what he likes on his bread, just as he no doubt knows what she likes with hers. They grew up together, damn it!
The cold reasoning did little to douse the fire of resentment. He glared at the younger man.
Raven chose that moment to look up from his food. First surprise, then a
smug half smile lit his face.
Soultwin you may be, Dragonlord, but even you cannot erase what went before,
that smile seemed to say. And when Maurynna laid her hand on the green jar, Raven said, “Rose-hip?”
She smiled as she ladled a good-sized dollop of jam on her bread, and said, “Of course; what else?” before turning her attention back to Otter.
Otter finished his tale and turned to his own food. Linden felt the tickle in his mind that meant Otter was trying to mindspeak him. He opened the contact.
No bard is he, diving into his meal like that,
Linden said in half-hearted jest, struggling to keep jealousy from coloring his mindvoice. That he didn’t quite succeed was evident in the puzzled look in the bard’s eyes.
Luckily Otter chose not to ask any awkward questions.
Not even an inkling of it,
was all he said.
Any true bard with an audience this eager would have starved before disappointing them. Ah, well.
He scooped up a spoonful of frumenty and ate with relish.
One’s enough for any family,
Linden replied.
Linden, is all well?
Otter asked, pausing before eating another spoonful.
Linden ignored the question. Silence fell over the table as they ate.
When Raven did start talking, it was so sudden that most of them jumped. “House Mimdallek had Taren from certain, ah, merchants who occasionally have business in northern Jehanglan.”
Linden raised an eyebrow. Well and well; it seemed that some not of the favored—and no doubt official and heavily taxed—few made it to and from Jehanglan.
“Merchants, my ass,” said Lleld. Then, with relish, “Smugglers! What fun.” She rubbed her hands together in glee.
Raven blinked in surprise at the little Dragonlord, then laughed. All at once Linden saw the little boy he’d played with years ago.
“Gilliad al zefa’ Mimdallek,” Raven continued, “is the Second of her House in Nen dra Kore, the Assantik port on the Straits. She’s both greedy and superstitious; one was nearly the death of Taren, the other saved him. She got Taren out of Nen dra Kore before House Mhakkan—and her own First, Ben-dakkat—found out about him. House Mhakkan is a very powerful House, the only one that trades with Jehanglan; the only one allowed to—officially. They hold the imperial grant.
“Taren was passed through Mimdallek hands the length of Assantik and shoved onto a ship bound for Thalnia. My friend Iokka brought Taren to me in Tanlyton; he and all the others along the line were convinced Taren was mad. He sounded it, too.”
“Lucky for him,” Jekkanadar said. “It’s ill fortune to kill a madman.”
“Just so, Dragonlord. Likely that was all that stopped Gilliad from ordering Taren kilted—that and the fact that in betweeen his bouts of raving he’d invoked
Danashkar to avenge him if she had him killed. It stayed Gilliad’s hand, but must have burned her toes, as Iokka says, not to have had Taren’s throat cut somewhere along the line. She wishes her associations with these particular trading partners to remain very, ah, discreet.”
Otter snorted. “I can imagine.”
Linden rubbed his chin. “Is it so important?”
Maurynna, next to him, nearly choked on her tea. “Very,” she said.
Raven rested his elbows on the table and said kindly—too kindly—“Why, Dragonlord; surely you must know about the Dawn Emperor’s grants of—”
Before Linden could pin the snide brat’s ears back for him, Lleld broke in with, “Obviously he doesn’t and neither do I. I’ve never been to Assantik, I don’t think Linden has either, and neither of us was ever a trader. So, hang it all, just
why
is it important? And who is Danashkar?”
“Danashkar,” Jekkanadar said, “is a particularly nasty Assantikkan demon you don’t want angry with you. He’s not invoked lightly. The mad are his children, and he’ll hunt you down if you kill one of them. All the stories agree you’re lucky if you take only a few years to die in his domain. I’ll let one of those who understand trade explain the emperor’s grants.”
Smirking at Linden, Raven began an answer, but jumped in his seat and shut his mouth again. He darted an angry glare first at his great-uncle to his left and then across the table at Maurynna. Linden generously hid a satisfied grin behind his mug of tea.
Maurynna said, “For the most part, the Dawn Emperor doesn’t interfere with the great trading Houses. It’s the Council of Ten which, as my Assantik ‘cousin’ of sorts complains, writes the laws and causes all the problems. But sometimes an emperor will, for reasons best known to him or her, grant a House the rights of trade for a particular commodity, or with a particular port.
“My family is allied with House Bakkuran for trade, Lleld, and that same ‘cousin’ once told me that a very, very long time ago, the empire of Jehanglan closed itself off from the outside world.”
Jekkanadar nodded agreement. “A long time to truehumans, yes; it was not long ago as Dragonlords reckon time. It happened in my father’s time; he was a child but he remembered. Even at the campfires of the lowest was told the tale of how an emperor of Jehanglan closed his land against the world and became the first Phoenix Lord. No one knew why. From what I understand, it’s still not known.”
Raven whistled. “You Changed that long ago, my lord? But that’s—”
“A little more than a thousand years ago,” Jekkanadar finished. “As Dragonlords go, I’m still considered young, my friend.
“The realm of Assantik was in chaos from decades of the Wars of the Witch Kings, the armies still battling back and forth across the land when I first Changed. I was only a goatherd then, but even the most humble of us were
caught in the fighting.” Jekkanadar paused and absentmindedly fingered the thin scar running along his dark cheek. “It was almost a hundred years later that one man took the throne and his children and children’s children held it after him. That was Nerreklas the Black, first emperor of the Third Dynasty.
“Nerreklas’s great-great grandson tried to break Jehanglan’s isolation. He was greedy, and the tales of Jehanglan’s wealth had not lost in the telling over the years. He raised a navy to conquer them. That navy was destroyed.
“Only one sailor returned from the Straits of Cansunn. Tied to a spar, he was found by a fishing boat and brought before the emperor. He lived long enough to pass on the message he had been given, then died.”
Jekkanadar stopped. His last words hung on the air.
“And?” his soultwin demanded at last.
“What was the message?” Maurynna asked at the same time.
“Oh, well done,” Linden heard Otter whisper under his breath. “Give me this man and I’ll make a bard out of him.” The words were so soft that only the unnaturally keen hearing of a Dragonlord would have heard them. From Jekkanadar’s wink, Linden knew he’d heard them as well.
“The message? Let me see if I can remember … . Ah! I have it!”
Good thing, too,
Linden mindspoke Otter,
or else Lleld would have had his hide for boot leather, the tease.
Jekkanadar continued, his voice low and menacing, “From the tales I heard when I went back to Assantik many lives of men afterward, it was plain that the man was under some spell, kept alive until he could deliver his message. For he said, ‘Those who challenge the Phoenix, shall die by the Phoenix’s might,’ and fell dead, the flesh rotting from his bones in that instant.”
“Eeyahh,” Lleld said with a grimace. “That’s gruesome.”
Her soultwin smiled, pure wickedness. “That’s how I heard it. It’s best told around a campfire in the dead of night, though. One can imagine all sorts of awful things then.” He hitched one hand across the table like a monstrous spider, fingers veering this way and that as if they searched for something. “All sorts of things creeping up on you out of the darkness beyond the firelight.”
A long moment of silence; then, “Feh,” said Lleld, pushing her plate away. “I don’t think I’m hungry anymore.”

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