Dragon and Phoenix by Joanne Bertin Read Free Book Online Page B

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.