Love And War (5 page)

But still they hoped he would glide down to them out of the dark sky.

The nights passed as slowly as a gnome builds a machine. The days were even longer.
Eventually, though, the moons went through their glowing phases. It was almost time.

As the sun descended, sending long shadows across a sad, beleaguered city, Kyra and Seron
grew anxious. Tonight was the night.

“Do you think the note actually reached Tosch?” wondered Kyra.

“I don't know.”

“What if the peddler were intercepted? If the Highlord deciphered our message - ”

Suddenly a loud knock sounded at their door. Instinctively, they both reached for each
other. Neither of them uttered a word. The worst, it seemed, had happened. They had been
found out.

The pounding on the door continued, matched only by the pounding of their hearts. Seron
took a deep breath and kissed his wife lightly on the forehead. “Let's try to be brave,”
he said in a voice that nonetheless betrayed his fear.

She nodded. Seron got to his feet and opened the door. “What did I do, roust you two out
of bed?” roared Seron's brother, Long-Chin Cheb. “What took you so long to open up? It's not as if you had so far
to go to reach the door,” he added, glancing disdainfully at the walls of the tiny hut.

“We . . . we didn't expect to see you,” said Seron, catching his breath. “This is quite a
surprise. What brings you to Flotsam? Is - is anything wrong?”

“Must something be wrong for me to visit my only family?”

“Seron didn't mean that,” piped up Kyra in her husband's defense. “He's glad to see you,
just as I am.”

Cheb smiled at his sister-in-law. “That's nice of you to say. And let me tell you, you're
still a pleasure to look at,” he added. “I've always said, my brother's done an awful lot
of foolish things in his life, but marrying you wasn't one of them.”

To accept the compliment was also to accept the slap at her husband, and that Kyra would
not do. She simply nodded curtly and offered her brother-in-law a chair at the table.

He was dressed like a prince, but his clothes looked better than he did. His face was long
and sallow, with deep- set green eyes that gave him a cadaverous, if mesmerizing,
appearance.

As Cheb strutted through the doorway, Seron nervously glanced out the window into the
deepening twilight. Tosch would not show himself if he saw a third person in the hut; they
had to get rid of Cheb. Assuming, that is, that Tosch was actually coming. “You'll be glad I made this surprise visit,” Seron's brother announced grandly, “when you hear what I have to say. But first - ” he dropped his
satchel to the floor and plopped down into the most comfortable chair in the house - “pour
me some ale, girl.”

When she returned with a full mug, he winked and said, “A barmaid never forgets her craft.”

Kyra stepped across the room to stand with her hus band. “You said you had news,” she said
coolly.

The older man downed the mug of ale in one long draught. “Good for what ails you,” he
said. Then he laughed. “Hey, I made a joke. 'Good for what ALE'S you.' Get it?”

“The news?” asked Seron.

“Of course. You must be anxious to hear it. It's obviously clear,” he added gesturing at
their home, “that you're in need of glad tidings. Well,” he continued, “one day, lo and
behold, I received a request for twenty paintings from a wealthy man who wanted to
decorate his new home with an artistic touch. Naturally, he didn't want to pay very much,
but we managed to settle on a fair price. Of course, I never told him that I had a brother
who was a painter. Nor did I tell him that this brother of mine had a hut overflowing with
his unsold works of art.”

“At what price did you propose this sale of my paintings?” asked Seron.

“Never mind the price,” Cheb said with a wave of his hand. “It isn't important. All you
need to know is that I will take twenty of your paintings - of my choosing - and give you
five percent of everything I make.”

Seron physically flinched at his brother's words. Though he could almost feel the knife
wound of betrayal, he fought his temper and quietly said, “Forgive me if I choose to
ignore this opportunity. I know how you made your fortune - buying unsold goods at a
fraction of their cost in one city and then selling them at a generous markup somewhere
else. You're entitled to your profits, but five percent of twenty paintings means I'm
giving nineteen away for free. No, thank you.”

“Come now,” said Cheb. “Don't be foolish. This is money in your pocket. Why hesitate? You
can't sell this stuff, anyway. Might as well let me take it off your hands.”

Seron was silent. He had turned away to look out the window, then glanced back at Kyra.
“What do you think?” he asked.

“I say no,” she said with firm resolution. “Someday soon,” she added pointedly, following
his gaze into the dark sky, “your paintings - all of them - will be worth a great deal
more.”

“You have your answer,” said Seron to his brother.

“This is ridiculous,” insisted Cheb. “I found a willing buyer and you turn me down. But
I'll be magnanimous. I'll raise the offer to a full ten percent. Now what do you say?”

“No,” Seron answered emphatically. “You'd best be on your way,” he added, afraid that his
rage was beginning to break through his calm exterior.

The two brothers glared at each other. Cheb could not understand such an empty-headed
artist, while Seron knew, from sad experience, that he could never explain himself to such
a money-hungry man.

“Here, take a candle,” offered Kyra. “You can light one of our torches outside and use it
to find your way along the path.”

Seron led the grumbling Cheb to the door. “If you hurry,” he said, “you'll still find a
bed at the Sea Master Inn. Tell the owner that I sent you. He knows me.”

Cheb was already out the door, lighting his torch, when he realized he'd left his satchel
in the hut. He rushed back in with the torch aflame and reached for the bag on the floor
by the chair.

At the same time, Kyra said, “Here, let me help you.”

They accidentally collided while both reached for the satchel, and Cheb lost his balance.
Falling over backward, the torch went flying out of his grasp.

The burning torch landed in the comer of the hut, right in the middle of Seron's paints.
They exploded in a ball of bright orange flame!

Cheb quickly scrambled to his feet. “Run for your lives!” he cried. He snatched up his
satchel and ran out the door without ever looking back.

“Get out! Save yourself!” Seron shouted to his wife, who was trying to drag the heavy
wooden crate out from beneath the bed.

“I'm not leaving without your painting,” she cried. The fire quickly spread far beyond the
comer of the hut. Soon, the bed and all the rest of their furniture were burning. Two of
the walls were aflame, as was part of the roof; a heavy, deadly smoke filled their
one-room home.

Seron grabbed his wife around the waist and hauled her to her feet. Both of them were
coughing, their eyes were tearing, and their skin was beginning to blister. The fire snapped at the edges of their clothing as he carried his wife to the door of the hut
and threw her onto the soft grass outside the door.

But he didn't follow her out into the safety of the night. Instead, he rushed back into
the burning hut, diving to the floor next to the bed. The wooden crate was beginning to
char, but he knew there was still time; the painting inside had not yet been damaged. He
hauled the crate out from beneath the bed and lifted it. The door was just a few yards
away. . . .

Though the doorway was open, the smoke and flames were too thick for Kyra to see inside
the hut. “Forget the painting!” she screamed. “Seron! Get out of there! Hurry!” she begged.

The roof caved in. The hut collapsed. Seron was buried in an avalanche of fire, and Kyra
gave out an anguished cry of pain that stretched on for minutes. When there was nothing
left inside her, she crumpled to the dew-wet grass.

Kyra didn't move. There was no reason. Much later, in the darkest hour of the night, a
voice whispered in her ear. . ..

“Am I late?”

At first, Kyra was startled. She lifted her head and saw Tosch. The familiar sight of the
brass dragon set Kyra crying all over again. He did his best to comfort her, nestling her
frail, shivering frame between his right wing and his body. But he couldn't see what was
so upsetting.

As best she could, she told Tosch what had happened. Then she wept throughout the rest of
the night. Finally, just before dawn, Kyra fell into an exhausted sleep. The dragon
sighed. The sun would be coming up soon - and he supposed he had better take her with him.
There was nothing for Kyra here. He lifted her onto his back and then gently took wing.

Tosch watched a female brass dragon sailing in small, lazy circles overhead. Without
thinking, he turned his good profile in her direction.

“I don't think I ever told you, but I do like Palanthas,” Kyra announced from her seat on
a nearby tree stump.

Tosch nodded absently, glancing down at the blue, yellow, and orange clothes Kyra was
sewing together for him. “When will my new cape be finished?” he asked.

“I told you it would take six months,” she said. “It's only been four.”

“You know only humans count time,” he replied with a shrug of his gigantic shoulders. “Has
it really been four months?”

“I can't quite believe it, either,” she said in an aching, hollow voice.

“Ah, you seem so ... lonely, Kyra. Perhaps you should marry again.”

“No!” she said emphatically. A moment later, a sad smile washed over her face. “I know you
mean well,” she said, “but I could never love another man after Seron. We were best
friends as well as lovers. We finished each other's thoughts, laughed at each other's
jokes.” She closed her eyes. “I can't sleep without him. I reach for him at night,” she
softly admitted, and then rubbed her eyes open. “I saw you preening for that female up
there,” she gestured with a wan smile on her face, “and my first thought was that I wanted
to tell Seron that you hadn't changed a bit.”

“Please don't point,” he said, embarrassed. “She'll know that we're talking about her.”

Kyra lowered her hand. “Sorry,” she said. “Apology accepted,” he said indulgently. She
reached out and stroked his head the way she used to back in the old days. He smiled.

Kyra had spent all her waking hours - and many of her sleeping hours, as well - reliving
her life with Seron. Over and over again, every conversation, every hug, every night of
passion played in her mind. She remembered he had always wanted her to do something more
with her life. He had said she was capable of doing anything she set her mind to. The only
thing she had set her mind to, though, was loving him. Shouldn't that have been enough?

He had tried so hard for her. He never brought home a pocketful of money, but he always
brought home kindness, laughter, and a sweetness of spirit. If he had wanted her to
accomplish more with her life, why couldn't she try to do that for him now?

She laughed at herself. He would have said, 'Don't do it for ME, do it for YOU!"

Was it too late now to do it for either of them?

She glanced down at her hands. Tentatively, she allowed herself to ask the question, If I
can do anything I set my mind to, what should I do?

Her mind was blank.

“So, what do you think of the way I'm wearing my scales?” asked Tosch, interrupting her
reverie.

“What?”

“My scales ... on my back,” said the dragon, turning to give her a better look. “I've
forced the edges up just a bit. Pretty stylish, huh?”

“It looks very modem. You might start a trend.” “You think so?” “If anyone can,” she
laughed, “it's you.” “Well, the only way I can start a trend is if I am seen by everyone,“ Tosch said thoughtfully. ”So I guess I'd better be on my way.”

He flapped his wings and slowly rose off the ground. “I'll be back soon to pick up my new
cape. Bye, now.”

She went back to the only trade she knew - serving ale. She worked long hours at a new
tavern where the owner favoured her and the customers appreciated her diligence. But the
years of hard work and scraping by had taken a toll on her. Now, the younger barmaids had
to fend off the pinches and the propositions, and only the regulars took notice of the
pale, disheveled Kyra. She did not care - she did not care about much.

Six years passed before Tosch returned. Kyra understood that to a brass dragon, six years
was hardly more than a week; she wasn't angry with him. Besides, in her great and enduring
sadness, there was precious little happiness. Seeing her old friend was a welcome relief
from her neverending sense of loss.

They sat on a sandy beach at the edge of the bay. She glanced up and smiled, slightly
averting her eyes. It was self-preservation. Tosch was covered with every imaginable color
of cloth; it nearly blinded her whenever she tried to gaze at him. He obviously was not
interested in the three-color cape that she had painstakingly made.

“Look,” he said, insisting that she focus her eyes on him, “I've had my teeth chiseled.
What do you think? Good and straight now, right?”

She shielded her eyes and glanced at his mouth. “Every time I see you, you're different,”
she said. “I can hardly remember what you looked like six years ago.”

A tear suddenly ran down her cheek. Her chin trembled.

“Now what's wrong?” asked Tosch, perturbed. “I'm sorry. It's just that I sometimes forget
what Seron used to look like, too.”

The dragon lowered his plummaged head and sighed with exasperation. “You still think of
him?” “I never stop.”

“Well, I still can't understand what you saw in him. I grant you, he was a passable
painter, but after all, he had a wonderful subject. You know,” Tosch added, “he was never
very nice to me.”

“He liked you very much,” Kyra said defiantly. “And I don't want you to say another bad
word about Seron. Not ever.”