The Prince of Shadow (40 page)

Llesho stood and bowed low as the dragon turned an emerald eye to study him. “Does he know?” the dragon asked. The great worm ignored Llesho to direct his question at the healer. This suited Llesho just fine, as he was shaking in his boots and didn't think he could utter an answer even if he had understood the question.

“That is not your concern,” Mara answered him tartly. “Shall we get on with this?”

“Oh, very well. But wouldn't you rather owe me something less personal to be collected at a later date?”

“Life-debts must be paid in life,” she said, and opened her arms to the dragon's tooth.

“NO!” Llesho cried, as the dragon opened his mouth and nipped at the healer. Revulsion released him from the paralysis of his fear and he dashed forward, sword drawn, but too late. The golden worm pierced the heart of the healer with his poisoned fang. She fell between them, dead, and Llesho followed her to his knees, reaching for her bloody corpse. With great delicacy the worm nudged him with his snout and Llesho tumbled in the grass. Even such a gentle push, for a dragon, felt like a tree had fallen on him. Then the dragon opened his mouth wide and swallowed the healer whole.

Llesho tried to scream, but the sound caught in his throat would not come out. He could not breathe, could not see for the darkness that seemed to cover the sun; he could only kneel where he had fallen and rock himself painfully, his sword forgotten at his side, his arms wrapped tight around his gut.

“Noooo!” The scream finally escaped its prison in his chest. “No, no, no, no.” He moved his arms so that he could cover his eyes with his clenched fists, rocking and screaming, “No, no, no!”

“What are you going on about, boy?” Still licking his chops, the dragon loomed over him, and Llesho wanted to kill the creature, but he couldn't move. He noted that the thin tongue had missed a spot, and his gut turned over when he realized he was looking at the healer's blood.

“I loved her,” he moaned, still rocking himself like an out of control cradle. That wasn't what he intended to say, and he wasn't even sure how he meant it. As a mother, perhaps, or even as a grandmother. She had reminded him of Kwan-ti and even Adar, his brother, a little, and he'd lost every one of them.

Llesho's declaration didn't seem to surprise the golden dragon nearly as much as it had surprised Llesho himself, but the creature had little patience with his continued distress. The dragon snorted, and Llesho felt the touch of heat, the smell of ash, on the breath of the great worm.

“No need for hysterics,” the creature pointed out. “She'll be back.”

Lleck had come back as well, but Llesho could take little comfort and less counsel from a bear cub with a tendency to forget his charge and wander off into the woods to hunt. “I don't need another bear or a monkey or a parrot or crocodile; I need Mara, herself.”

“You don't have much faith in her, do you, boy?” The creature eyed him thoughtfully, as though he was deciding which morsel to take next from the platter at dinnertime. Llesho bowed his head, waiting for the devouring mouth to descend, but the dragon merely gave a pained sigh and belched smoke and greasy fire. Something the worm had eaten clearly did not agree with him. With a last sniff of disdain, the creature abandoned him; Llesho looked up in time to see its gleaming coils ripple the surface of the river and then it disappeared beneath the swiftly running current.

Long after the dragon had gone, Llesho stared at the place where he had disappeared, but the youth's thoughts were not on the worm that had only acted according to his nature. Disaster seemed to follow Llesho wherever he went, and he stood up, walked to the river's edge with a calculating question: if he threw himself in, let the river take him, would the rest of his friends have a better chance at survival? Perhaps no other governments would fall if he were gone. The world would turn as if he had never existed, which would probably be a good thing for the world. If he could be sure it wasn't already too late.

The brush of cloth sweeping across grass alerted him to a presence nearby and he turned. Habiba approached. The governor's witch, except that the governor was dead for buying Llesho away from Master Markko's control. Llesho wondered if the witch still had a job, but figured he'd always been her ladyship's anyway. Kaydu's father, and Llesho had almost gotten her killed today, with her father close enough to watch on the wrong damned side of the river. Llesho would have thrown himself at Habiba's feet, except that Habiba had come as close as he seemed to want, and then had dropped to one knee, his head bowed.

“You have given me two great gifts today, my prince,” he said. “How does a man pay a debt greater than the value of his life?”

“I am not your prince. And you owe me nothing.” Llesho did not look away from the river; he hoped the witch mistook his hopeless anger for strength of purpose. How could Habiba honor him? “Your daughter, Kaydu, could have died here today.”

“But she didn't. You saved her. For that alone I would give you my life.”

“I put your daughter in danger. Mara saved her, saved all of us, at the price of her own life.”

“Kaydu is a soldier. She did her job. As her commander, you saw her safely home, at great cost to your own peace of mind.”

Habiba paused, and Llesho thought he would get up and leave now that he had said his piece. But the witch spoke again, more wistfully. “All my life I have wished to see one of the great worms. Almost, it had become easier to believe they no longer existed than to accept that I was unworthy. Today you have shown me wonders I thought lost to the world forever.”

“Mara did that. And Mara is dead.” Llesho faced the witch with all the truth of his guilt. His eyes burned, and Habiba flinched, was himself the first to turn away. He watched the river as if he expected the golden dragon to surface again and invite him to tea.

“We live in an age of wonders, Llesho. Something died here today, but I think, whatever she was, that it was not your healer. You will see her again, if you don't do something really stupid like drown yourself out of self-pity.”

“What can you know about it?” Llesho demanded, though he couldn't work up much fight. He didn't really want to die. It wasn't very heroic, but mostly he wanted to lie down where he was and sleep for a very long time. Maybe, if he slept long enough, the storm would have passed him by.

Habiba seemed to know what he was thinking, though. “You are, yourself, the eye of the storm,” he said softly, and Llesho saw compassion in his eyes. “If you sleep, the storm sleeps with you, when you awake, the storm is with you still.” He shrugged, a gesture of submission to the fates. “Some of those who ride in the wake of the storm always suffer, but without it we have no rain, no rivers, no life.”

“I'm not strong enough,” Llesho whispered. He wondered if he could have given his life in the healer's place, and had no answer.

Habiba put a hand on his shoulder. “Then today, the storm will sleep.” In the sanctuary of the arm curved around his shoulder, Llesho permitted the witch to guide him back to the wall. He looked for a break to enter by, but Habiba used one hand as a balance and vaulted over with the agility of a youth. Llesho clambered after him with a great deal more effort and considerably less grace.

Chapter Twenty-four

LLESHO slid over the low stone wall. He would have fallen, but Bixei was there, waiting for him, and propped a shoulder under his arm to hold him up.

“Is he all right?”

That was Stipes, and Llesho wondered what the gladiator was doing here in the camp with the governor's witch. But Lling was tearing at his shirt, her fingers gentle but her tongue a good deal sharper. “Fool! If you've opened your wound again, Mara will have your guts on a platter.”

Habiba put a hand on Lling's wrist, stilling her fingers on Llesho's bandages. “That can wait until we are more comfortable.”

“No, it can't—”

“Mara's dead,” Llesho gritted between clenched teeth. He pulled away from Bixei's support before he added, “The dragon ate her.”

Lling's hand fell, her face going white with shock.

Bixei gave the newcomers a cautious frown. “What dragon?” he asked, as Hmishi objected, “I saw her at the bridge—”

Llesho sighed. “There
is
no bridge over the Golden Dragon River.”

“No bridge. Then what—”

“Our enemies have spies everywhere.” Habiba stopped the argument with a glare that cut like a knife. “Let's take this conversation under shelter.”

They walked in silence after that. Llesho glanced sidelong at Stipes who strode with familiar ease at Bixei's side, but no one else seemed surprised at his presence. Stipes dipped his head in acknowledgment of Llesho's unspoken questions, but answers would have to wait, as Habiba had commanded. Any of the myriad birds calling overhead or the small creatures skittering in the grass might be under Markko's spell. Even the wind might carry their words away to the magician.

Master Jaks had set up camp in the orchard. Habiba led their party past lines of red felt tents tucked between the gnarled trunks of fruit trees. At the center of the camp a larger tent was stretched over stout poles. Its sides were furled, and under its shade Llesho counted half a dozen silent guards whose presence warned away accidental trespassers. Their drawn swords offered more persuasive arguments in the event of unfriendly approach. Master Jaks waited for them at a folding table strewn with maps. Two secretaries in the robes of their office hovered in the background.

Master Jaks spared the newcomers a brief smile, which Llesho did not return, and gestured to chairs set up in a rough circle around the table. By some unspoken agreement the others left the most comfortable chair for Llesho, who only realized what they had done after he had seated himself and planted his elbows on the chair's smooth wooden arms.

When they had all settled in, Habiba spoke in his most formal tones. “The governor of Thousand Lakes Province sends his regards to Prince Llesho of Thebin, Lord of the Eastern Passages and Wizard-King of the High Mountains. His lordship regrets that he could not deliver his respects in person, but begs the prince's understanding, as he must prepare the defense of his own people. The soldiers you see about you, however, he offers at your disposal, with most fervent prayers for success in your endeavor.”

“Thank him for me, please, though I wonder if the emperor would recognize the right of the governor of Thousand Lakes Province to offer his protection here.”

“I do not understand you.” Habiba smoothed a hand down his coat, a weak effort at distraction.

“I think you do, Habiba.” Llesho moved forward in his chair, leaning over the table to better read the message in the witch's eyes. “Where are we?” It wasn't the most important question on his mind, but the answer would shade all the others.

“The Golden Dragon River,” Master Jaks replied. The faces of Llesho's companions hardened with the reminder of their loss, but Llesho refused to give in to the remorse he felt.

“It's a long river,” Llesho pointed out. “I just lost another healer on it, so I am not in the mood to play geography games. Are we in Farshore Province, or Thousand Lakes?” He thought they'd strayed too far north to have crossed into Sky Bridge Province, but he couldn't be certain.

“I told you, she'll be back,” Habiba objected softly. “It isn't always about you.”

Llesho stared down the governor's witch. He felt a door open in his soul, to one of those caverns darker than he cared to look at, and he didn't bother trying to hide it. Habiba pulled back, frowning as if he'd been given something tough to chew. “Lately, it may seem so, I'll grant you that. But under cover of the storm, many agenda are at work. Including Mara's own, and her business with Golden Dragon.”

“But still we play geography games. What province do we put to the storm today, Master Witch?”

Master Jaks gusted a heavy breath. “Until a month ago, this land was part of Farshore Province.”

Whatever was bothering him, Habiba had put it aside, and he took up the explanation in terms of an imperial memorial:

“His lordship, the governor of Thousand Lakes Province, has extended his protection to the lands that border his own, and to the household of his daughter, who has come to him for refuge. Think of this orchard as a provincial mission of the governor of Thousand Lakes Province, sanctuary to all who ask it in the name of her ladyship, wife of the murdered governor of Farshore. Until the Celestial Emperor himself assigns a new governor to Farshore, it is within the lady's right to request the aid of her father, and within the duties and obligations of her father to fulfill her request wherever her ladyship's interests may find themselves.”