The Merchant Emperor by Elizabeth Haydon Read Free Book Online Page A

the mountains of Ylorc from the Firbolg four years back.
    The Lord Cymrian had commissioned a series of birdhouses and rookeries for Highmeadow’s aviary that were like those his grandfather Gwylliam had designed, architectural renderings of the buildings, palaces, basilicas, and mountain fortresses that were the destinations of those birds in cities all across the continent. The detail that had been captured in balsa wood and twigs was astounding; he never ceased to marvel at how close to the originals the carefully fashioned cages were, down to details like bell tower windows and the shape of Grivven Post, the peak in the Teeth where Achmed received his mail.
    It was from this birdhouse that the Lord Cymrian pulled a flyer now, as he did each morning. The brown wren squirmed for a moment in his hand, but he gentled it down quickly, billing its throat with his forefinger, then carefully attached the metal leg tube with the tiny scroll containing his meticulously graphed words of longing and adoration in a long-dead language, and turned it loose, watching it catch a warm morning updraft and take to the wind, heading east, making for the place where his family was in hiding.
    Taking his love along with it.
    He waited until he could no longer see the bird, nor sense it with the inner sight that was the gift of the dragon blood in his veins.
    Then he checked the door of the birdcage and made his way back down the twisting stairs to the courtyard where his battlefield commanders were awaiting him for morning orders.

5

    GWYNWOOD, THE DRAGON’S CAVE
    The terrible moan trailed off into silence like the end of the night wind’s howl.
    Fear receded into the depths of Melisande’s mind. Without further thought, she darted into the dark cave, calling as loudly as she could.
    “Elynsynos! Elynsynos, I hear you! I’m coming!”
    She had gone only a few paces when the total lack of light forced her to stop. The glowing lichens that had grown at the mouth of the cave had grown thinner and thinner in the dark, leaving the cave without any natural radiance on its walls. The acrid smell of fire and smoke long gone lingered in the air, making breathing difficult. Melisande’s lungs constricted as her fear returned.
    I wish my father were here, she thought, fighting back panic. Or Gwydion—he would know what to do. Or Gavin.
    At the thought of the Invoker a memory, recently made, came into her mind. She fumbled blindly in her pack until she felt the luminescent spores he had given her, soft and sandy, beneath her fingers, then pulled one out and squeezed, swallowing hard as small bits crumbled into powder. After a moment, a thin glow appeared in her hands, and the cave walls became dimly visible.
    Around her, the tunnel yawned like the maw of a giant beast.
    “I’m coming, Elynsynos,” Melisande said again, more quietly this time. She slung her pack onto her back and, holding the spore aloft, she started down into the darkness.
    The tunnel twisted as she followed it, opening at the bottom into a large cavern below. The deeper she descended the more the cave began to curve, bending in a circular fashion to the west. At the bottom of the tunnel she could see a vague glow, like the distant light of firecoals. The dark walls began to brighten as she hurried on, reflecting the glow of the tunnel before them. The scent of the air changed, too; rather than growing more dank as she went deeper underground, the air around her began to freshen and take on a salty tang. Melisande recognized it after a moment as the smell of the sea.
    That’s right, she thought as she scurried down the earthen passageway. Rhapsody told me about this, that Elynsynos had a lagoon of salt water in the depths of her lair. I wonder if it reaches all the way to the sea. Even as she traveled, she discarded the notion. The sea was miles from this place.
    Finally the widening tunnel opened into a vast cavern. Above her, as high up as she could see, the dim glow she had