Elvenbane (47 page)

That told her all she needed to know. She didn’t think she was going to like this Triana much. But she didn’t see what other choice they had. Shana clenched her jaw so hard her teeth ached, and tried to think of an innocuous question instead of one of the dozen she wanted to ask.

Shadow raised his head from his arms. “So how are we going to get there, again? I must have missed it. And how are we going to get past Cheynar and his merry band?” Mero asked thickly.

“I think Keman can fly us over one at a time,” Valyn said. “He
might
be able to take all of us at once, if I dare to take the chance of Cheynar detecting my magic and make us all much lighter temporarily.”

“Absolutely not,” Shana vetoed immediately. “Cheynar doesn’t actually know for certain that you’re with us, and I don’t see any reason to let him find out.” She thought for a moment, though with the pounding headache behind her cheekbones it was growing increasingly hard to do so. “There is something I would like to do, though, before we get there. I want arrow-shafts for those claw-trimmings of Keman’s. Just in case this friend turns out to be less than friendly.”

Valyn shuddered at the reminder of those claw-trimmings; she felt him shaking, though he tried to conceal it. She didn’t much blame him; when she’d wistfully said one day that she wished she had some of the elf-shot the chronicles had mentioned, Keman had offered the tips from his claws. Valyn had been skeptical of the efficacy of those claw-bits, until an accidental scratch with one of the points inflamed immediately and sent him into a state of shock that kept them bound to one spot for days. That was what had enabled Cheynar to catch up with them.

Though the claw-tips seemed ill-omened to Valyn, Shana was convinced they’d prove an important weapon against the elves, and she had no intention of giving them up.

:Tell the young elven lord that I can fly two of you in tonight, and you and I can probably come in by dawn if we stay above the clouds
.: Keman sounded perfectly confident, which relieved Shana. She had not been certain if he could carry one of them and still fly.

:You weigh no more than a large two-horn, or a small deer, little sister
,: he chuckled. :
I think I can manage
.:

She relayed the information to Valyn, who sighed with relief equal to hers. “Then it’ll be all right,” he said.

Mero said something inaudible, sneezed, and tried again. “Valyn ought to go first,” he said thickly.

“But you’re sick—” Valyn began.

“And
you’re
elven,” Mero retorted. “And she knows you. Her servants won’t dare interfere with you, and you can get us explained.” He sneezed again, and Shana had to stifle a coughing spasm. Mero smiled weakly, and said, in what was probably an attempt at a joke, “If she won’t take us in, just kill me, all right? It’d be better than being sick out here in the mud.”

Shana lost her fight to control her coughs, and her body shook with the violence of the fit. When she finished, she croaked, “He’s right. But there’s an alternative.”

“What’s that?” Valyn asked anxiously.

“The desert,” she told them. “Keman and I can live there, and if we can, so can you.”

“If we can get across country. If we can get across my father’s land without him sensing I’m there,” Valyn replied gloomily. “If we can avoid him and his hunters.”

His gloom communicated itself to her, and she snapped, “Well, it’s better than no plan at all!”

He made no reply to her outburst, but then she really didn’t expect one. She just huddled back against the trunk of the tree, tried to arrange herself so that the least number of drips hit her, and settled down to wait until sunset.

It seemed to be the longest wait in her life.

Valyn clung to the spinal crest of the dragon and tried not to look down. He’d done so once, and had nearly lost his grip and what little he had in his stomach.

While clouds blanketed the sky, they were low-lying clouds, and Keman had quickly climbed above them, even with the added burden of Valyn on his back. The moon shone brightly down on the mounds of white below as they climbed and headed southwards to elven lands; the full was a day or two away, and it was particularly bright up here in the clear air. It wasn’t so bad while they flew above the wilderlands; the cloudscape below didn’t look real, and Valyn could convince himself that it was all a very skillfully wrought illusion. But when they reached Cheynar’s lands and beyond, the cloud-cover finally broke, and Valyn had made that fatal error of looking down…

He finally kept his eyes tightly closed, and hoped he wouldn’t disgrace himself too badly.

He had thought that Keman would have him sit over the dragon’s shoulders, just behind the neck and in front of the wings—but instead, Keman had him position himself behind the wings and just in front of the hindquarters: He saw why, now—the muscles of the forequarters were constantly in motion, and he might well have gotten unbalanced or even tossed off by a sudden movement—while here, the muscles scarcely moved at all.

Which was just as well, because there was no way for him to strap himself on. No saddle, no straps, nothing but his own legs and the stiff spines in front of him.

His legs were clamped to the dragon’s torso as tightly as he could manage. He had the feeling that when he reached the ground, his legs were going to ache for a week.

Triana’s lands were west of Cheynar’s, west and a little south. There was a swamp between her lands and the wilderness that bordered Cheynar’s—a swamp that not even Keman had wanted to venture into. Then to the south was Dyran’s land, and the desert that bordered his property and Lord Berenel’s. And to the west—beyond the desert—

Dragon lands. Real dragons. I’m
riding
a real dragon… sort of
. He thought for a moment about all the children’s tales he’d been brought up on, the stories of dragons and the stories of taming one to ride.

And he thought about how his arms and legs already ached from holding on, and how one of the flattened spines of Keman’s crest was digging into—

Never mind.

And the way Keman moved was not exactly pleasant, either. Valyn had always assumed that flying would be smooth.

Hah.

Keman’s normal movement—in completely still air—was with a series of lurches as his wings beat. This was complicated with sideslips and drops as he hit turbulence and thermals—and punctuated by a few—’very few—blessedly smooth moments when he glided for a bit, resting his wings. If Valyn had been inclined to motion sickness, the trip would have been an unmitigated disaster. And if there had been a
real
storm instead of the rain-drip they’d been getting, Valyn would have been torn off the dragon’s back before they’d flown a league.

If they’d had any idea how much dragon-riding
hurt
—and how little it would take to induce him to take to a horse with a proper saddle. Or a grel. Even a
bad-tempered
grel…

No one would ever be tempted to make a romance out of dragon-riding, once he’d tried it for himself.

Valyn risked a look ahead—and saw a sprinkling of multicolored lights against the dark of trees and tree shadows. More, he spotted a slender, pink-tinted finger of light rising gracefully from the dark bulk below. That could only be the illuminated tower Triana had erected for her last party, the one with the enormous, cushioned platform at the top that was little more than one gigantic bed, surrounded by windows and roofed with a skylight…

Valyn flushed, even though there was no one here to see him. Things had happened at that party he hadn’t even told Shadow. In many ways, Triana and Dyran were a great deal alike.

But that tower alone showed how unlike Triana was from the rest of the elven lords in the ways that counted. Nearly every other lord Valyn knew lived in manors entirely closed off from the sight of the natural world. It was as if they were trying to create their
own
little worlds, untouched by the reality outside their doors. Triana’s villa was glass from floor to ceiling, and she often went up in the tower even when she was alone, to watch a storm, the stars, or the clouds float peacefully overhead.

Or so she told me.

Keman stopped lurching, and began a long, gliding descent; his goal, that same tower, or near it. He would land outside the manor, and Valyn would walk in, talk to Triana—

Hopefully she was between parties—

—and that would settle once and for all whether or not they had a sanctuary. Hopefully, they did. He hadn’t lied when he said Triana might well offer them shelter out of sheer spite, or just for the thrill of it. What he
hadn’t
said was how unpredictable Triana was. If she was in a bad mood—their arrival might well lighten it, because it would alleviate her boredom.

On the other hand, she might just have Valyn thrown out without even listening to him.

Valyn emerged from his thoughts when he realized that the ground was coming up very quickly—and he hadn’t the vaguest idea of how a dragon landed. He ducked his head desperately, and clung on with every fiber, as Keman suddenly backwinged like a falcon at the end of a stoop, huge membranous wings flailing the air with a sound like thunderclaps, blowing dead leaves and other debris in front of him.

He landed with a lurch that threw Valyn forward; and unable to stop himself, the elven lord rolled over Keman’s shoulder and landed on his rear in the grass, with a
thud
that did very little for his pride or dignity.

Before he could say anything, though, there was a writhing next to him that made him turn away—for, in the shape
his
stomach was in, watching Keman shift forms might well be the final insult. When he turned back, there was a large—very large—cow gazing at him with dark, solemn eyes.

“I’ll be right back,” he assured the youngster, as the cow joined a herd of her sisters. The cow looked over her shoulder and nodded, before putting her head down to gorge on grass as fast as she could pull it up.

He hadn’t known the dragon could switch sex, too. Was it all external, he wondered, or—

Never mind.

Melody drifted towards him on the sultry breeze, with a hint of exotic perfumes and a breath of flower-scent. Triana’s home was always surrounded with music; it was one of her abilities, the conjuring of sounds.

And when the music wasn’t mage-born, she had an entire staff of humans trained as minstrels, both vocalists and instrumentalists, enough so that she had music night and day. Valyn hurried towards the lights and music in the near distance, and as he drew nearer the manor, he recognized two things that filled him with mingled relief and apprehension. There were no signs of guests, which meant Triana was not having one of her parties. And there were lights blazing in the top of the tower, and a single moving shape up in the room at the top—which, since only Triana went up there alone, meant that she was
there
, in a reasonably good mood, and awake—and probably bored.

Probably very bored, since most of her usual companions were—if their fathers were anything like Dyran—out on various attempts to solve the mystery of “dragon-skin.”

And Valyn’s friends might just be exactly what she needed to relieve that boredom. But what she’d
do
with them was anybody’s guess…

V’dann Triana er-Lord Falcion paced the narrow edge of walkway that rimmed the inside of the windows of her tower, and stared at the lights of her manor below her. A restlessness was on her, and she hadn’t stopped pacing since she came up here. She’d hoped to walk off her nerve-born energy, but the exercise wasn’t working.

Damn, I’m bored. I need to do something.

Maybe she just ought to call down and get Rafe sent up—

Ancestors. She was not only bored, she was losing her memory. She’d broken him yesterday, and Mentor hadn’t finished training a new stud for her.

Now not only bored but frustrated, she considered the options before her, as she twisted a silken strand of her hip-length, pale gold hair in one hand.

Not another party. Not until people stopped sending their children off to chase lizard-skins. Right now the only ones free to come to the party were the ones she’d rather not see. At least, not without plenty of more amusing people around at the same time. There was a limit to how much stupidity she was going to endure for the sake of entertainment.

For a moment she considered joining the hunt; after all, there weren’t too many elven lords with
her
resources out looking for the things. One rumor and the scrap of skin that verified it weren’t important enough to rate the attentions of a Clan head—but it was significant enough if true for the Clans to put subordinates and younger sons on it. Now if she found them—

No, it was a stupid idea. If she found these so-called “dragons,” what would she do with them? Hunt them herself? She wasn’t the kind of fool who thought risking her life was a good way to combat ennui. Send her underlings in to hunt them? Then what? Make a fortune?

She didn’t need a fortune. She had one. As long as her people kept their skimming within reason, what more did she need? Father had picked the best possible people to run things before he fell off that horse—she’d put them in the best possible position for
her
. As long as she did well,
they
did well. If one of them found the stupid things on his own, fine. Otherwise, why bother with it?

She had the suspicion that it was all a hoax, anyway. And she mentally congratulated the author, whoever he was. Everyone seemed to have forgotten that the skins
could
have been
made
magically. After all, the one-horns, the grels, and plenty of other animals had been made that way. All it took was patience and the proper root material, and a very powerful magician.

She stared down at the illuminated water-garden below her, and chuckled a little at the thought of someone spending all that time on a prank.

It sounded like something
she’d
do.

It would have taken years to set up, with the “wild” girl and all, but who cared? If it was a hoax, it was brilliant. She wished she had thought of it herself!