Return of the Exile

9 Preparations

Linsha had to admit the Tarmaks knew how to treat a battered body. No sooner had she returned to the Akeelawasee than she was met by the Empress. Callista hovered in the background, her eyes huge with worry and consternation. Behind her waited Afec, looking cool and inscrutable, and several attendants.

Uncertain of the Empress’s reaction to Malawaitha’s death, Linsha clasped her hands and bowed low. “I apologize for killing a daughter of the royal family,” she said in a low voice.

The matriarch snorted indelicately. She looked Linsha over carefully from head to blue toes, nodded a few times, and replied in her difficult Common, “She accepted a challenge and lost. Do not apologize.” With a snap of her fingers, she held out her hand for a glass of dodgagd juice, which a servant swiftly handed to her. She passed it to Linsha. “I am told you marry in five days. You will stay here when Akkad-Dar leave.”

Linsha heard Callista’s gasp of dismay over the subdued noises in the room. She barely nodded an affirmative and drank the juice. For once its strange taste did not repel her, and the cool liquid was a welcome relief to her sore throat and overworked body.

The Empress clapped her hands and Linsha found herself surrounded by Callista, Afec, and the two female slaves. The women bustled her to the bathhouse where they scrubbed the blue paint from her body, massaged her aching limbs, and treated her bruises with cool water. Fortunately she remembered the brass dragon scale in time and slipped it out of her leather battle harness before anyone noticed. As soon as they were finished, Afec gave her a cold compress for her swollen eye, washed her superficial wounds with the stinging liquid and rubbed the thick unguent into the cut on her palm and the long laceration on her stomach. Callista brought her more juice and a bowl of soup. Linsha thanked them all, gave Callista an encouraging smile, and returned to the comparative peace of her tiny room. Although she wanted to talk to Callista and Afec, she gave in to the demands of her body and lay down on her pallet. Sleep found her before the blanket settled over her.

“Would you be able to get your hands on some dark green clothes or fabric in the next day or two? Dark gray would also work.” Linsha lay flat on her pallet, trying to stretch her muscles back into some semblance of working order. She cocked her good eye at the courtesan to see if she caught the significance.

Callista didn’t. The only subterfuge she knew involved the arts of her profession. Her fair face looked down at Linsha in confusion. “I suppose so. Why do you need such a thing?”

“An assassin I once knew told me dark green is a better color to wear when you are sneaking around in the dark. It is much harder to see than black, which tends to stand out in shadows.”

The two women were alone in the sleeping quarters that morning, for the Empress had excused Linsha from the dawn run. It was a good thing she had, Linsha decided, because she wasn’t entirely sure she could stay on her feet. Running was out of the question.

“Are you planning to sneak somewhere?” Callista asked with a slight smile.

Although they probably were alone in the sleeping rooms, Linsha lowered her voice to a murmur and told Callista about the dragon in the cavern beneath the palace. “I want to talk to her without a pack of Tarmaks gathering around—and without the High Priest. He and Lanther have a power over her that will be hard to break.”

“Do you know what it is?”

“No. But Afec may be able to help me.”

Callista drew in a breath. “Could this Sirenfal fly us home?”

Linsha did not reply immediately. The same notion had occurred to her already and sparked a tiny seed of hope in the gloom of her mind. But she remembered the dragon’s obvious weakness and the pallor of her scales. She didn’t know if Sirenfal was in any condition to fly across the bay, let alone all the way to Ansalon. She did not know either how to get the dragon out of the cave, how to slip past the Tarmak guards, how to get out of the Akeelawasee with Callista, or the answers to a host of other questions. She needed first to talk to the brass dragon. “Maybe,” she said at last. “If many things go right.”

“What about your marriage?” said Callista. “Will you go through with that?”

A chill shivered down Linsha’s shoulders. “I will do what I must,” she said.

Unbidden and unexpected came an image of a tall man with broad shoulders, hair the color of dark gold, and eyes that burned with the wisdom of a dragon over a hundred years old. She had seen him fiery with the intensity of passion to save his city, strong with command in an emergency, and silly with the joy of life while playing in a fishpond. He had saved her life several times, and when the need arose, he left his city behind to help her. If only he could help her now. Please, she silently begged the empty firmament. Please let him still be alive.

With Callista’s help, Linsha eased some of the kinks out of her sore limbs and made her slow way to breakfast. To Callista’s surprise, Linsha ate her gruel, the juice, and everything in sight without grumbling, and after breakfast she went to the small lake to swim in the warm water.

Although the swim helped, Linsha knew from past experience it would be several days before her body returned to a semblance of normal after the abuse it had taken the night before. Ten years ago a night’s sleep, a good meal, and a swim would have had her back to her practice exercises and feeling fit as a young colt. But her body was experiencing its age and the years of fighting that had taken their toll. She didn’t recover as quickly as she used to, which meant she was going to have to work hard the next few days and be extremely careful if she was going to do any good.

When her swim was over, Afec came to fetch her and took her to his infirmary for an examination of her injuries. Linsha allowed him to walk in first, then she closed the door firmly behind her. He glanced up curiously just as she tossed the brass dragon scale on the table. It flew in a gleaming arch that caught his eye and landed with a metallic ting on the wood table. Afec’s eyes widened; his gnarled fingers reached for the shining disk.

Linsha took two rapid steps to the table and slammed her hand over the scale. “What do you know about this dragon?” she demanded.

Shutters fell over the old Damjatt’s face, and he withdrew to a respectful distance from Linsha and made a slight bow. “Only what I’ve heard, Lady,” he said.

Linsha did not move. “And what did you hear?”

He peered behind her and out the window where the shutters were partially open to the morning breeze. “I heard once or twice,” he replied softly, “that there was a dragon in the old sea caves beneath the palace.”

“You’ve never seen it.”

He shook his head, his eyes on the floor at her feet. “It is forbidden. 0nly the priests and warriors and those chosen by the Emperor or the Akkad may go down there.”

Linsha thought for a moment then picked up the dragon scale and laid it in the old slave’s hand. His seamed face crinkled into a large smile. He held the scale to the light, admiring the sheen and color.

Linsha had deliberately polished the scale until it gleamed, and she was gratified to see her small ploy had worked. Assuming a casual air, she sat on the worktable in front of him and held out her cut palm. Never had she been able to figure out why some people thought it necessary to cut the hand for a blood oath. Why not the forearm? Or the buttock? Or the little toe? Something that would not interfere with one’s grip on a sword. Fortunately the Tarmak paint once again had performed its magic. The cut on her hand and the slash on her stomach were already healing well, and her eye did not seem as swollen.

“Her name is Sirenfal,” she said as if adding an afterthought. “She’s a young brass dragon.”

Still holding the scale, Afec bustled around his worktable and shelves, collecting his medicines, cloths, and water. “A female you say? And she’s young?”

“She has only laid her first clutch of eggs.”

The old Damjatt dumped his things on the table beside her and took her hand distractedly. “She has eggs?”

As Linsha hoped, he sounded fascinated. She caught his arm and asked, “Why would the warriors and the Emperor smash an egg to make a soup of some sort?” She described the breaking of the egg and the mix of ingredients that went into the drink.

His hand fell to the knotted belt at his waist and clutched the knots in his fingers. “They did that? I have only heard rumors. Are there any more eggs left?”

“Not of hers. Those are gone. This egg was from the Missing City. It was part of a clutch I swore to protect.”

“What a waste,” he murmured.

“Yes. So what are these rumors you’ve heard?”

Afec shrugged. “You know how talk passes among servants. I have heard that the drink you described is an old potion handed down among the Keena priests.”

“All right. But what does it do?” she insisted. “It couldn’t have had dragon eggs as the main ingredient in the beginning.”

“No. I’ve told you. We have no native dragons on Ithin’carthia. The addition of a dragon’s egg was the Akkad-Dar’s suggestion. I believe the potion was made by the Keena originally as a way to increase virility.”

Linsha’s eyebrows rose. “And what does the egg do?”

He gave a dry, raspy chuckle. “Adds its innate magic to the brew. It changes the nature of the drink to a kind of general tonic. It is supposed to improve one’s natural abilities—strength, stamina, virility.”

“No wonder the warriors crave it,” she said and wondered if a talent to use magic was one of those abilities that could be enhanced by this potion. That could explain much about Lanther. “The dragon eggs are hard to come by, so the Tarmaks have made a religious ceremony out of the preparation.”

Afec stared. “Did they give you any?”

She made a face that answered his question clearly. “I doubt they share that with women. I think Lanther just wanted me there to show what he can do to the eggs if I don’t obey.”

“What was the dragon doing during the ceremony?”

Linsha hid a secret smile. She had captured his full attention. Now she wanted his sympathy and cooperation. Afec was an old man and a slave, yet he knew the palace well, and while he was not a priest, he seemed to know much about healing and medicines. He did not have a great regard for the Keena or the Tarmaks either. He could be her best ally. With that in mind, she told him everything she could remember about Sirenfal, the dragon’s condition, and what the priest used against her.

When she finished, he stayed quiet for a long while and concentrated on cleaning her hand and the slash on her stomach. He checked her bruises and her black eye. He rubbed a cream on her wounds that tingled with the same heat as the blue paint.

“What do you plan to do?” he said at last.

“Why do you think I’m going to do anything?” she asked.

For the first time the old servant lifted his eyes to look directly into hers and gave her a knowing smile. Linsha was charmed. There was a sparkling vigor to his gaze and a depth of intelligence she realized he had kept camouflaged behind his subservient bows and lowered lids.

“I have watched you, Lady,” he said. “You would not be here, alive and preparing for a union to the great Akkad if you were not strong, resourceful, and tenacious. You are named the Drathkin’kela for good reason. I don’t believe you will let this young one languish in misery if there is something you can do.”

Linsha knew without a doubt that he meant what he said. She could only hope that he had the courage to help her and remain silent. “I need to talk to the dragon without the Tarmaks listening to every word,” she told him. “You said the dragon was in a sea cave. There must be an entrance somewhere out on the cliff face.”

She paused, tilted her head. Through the window she could hear insects buzzing in the bright sunlight and the faint rustle of the wind through the slender trees in the garden. Then she heard the sound again that had caught her attention—the slap of sandaled feet on the stone paving.

Afec patted her arm and switched subjects without a moment’s hesitation. “Rest today. Let your muscles recover. Tomorrow we will discuss the marriage rites and your duties as a Tarmak wife.”

The sandaled feet paused at his door and a knock shook the door just as it was shoved open. Two of the Akeelawasee guards and a stricken-looking slave woman hurried into the room. The slave woman’s linen shift was dirty with sweat stains and blood, and she carried a wrapped bundle in her arms.

“Afec,” the woman said in Tarmakian. Tears trembled on the edge of her lashes. “Loruth’s babe was delivered a short while ago.”

Neither Linsha nor Afec had to ask if the birth had gone well. The grim faces of the guards and the woman’s distress were clear enough. Linsha hopped off the table and watched with interest while the slave laid the bundle down and unwrapped it. Inside the woven blanket, a large Tarmak infant startled at the sudden exposure to light and cool air and began to cry lustily.

Linsha studied the baby, a little boy, and could see nothing wrong. It had been hastily cleaned and its umbilical cord was still attached.

Afec pointed to the small foot. “What did the midwife say?” he asked the slave woman.

“He is marthtok,” she sniffled.

The old healer sighed. Linsha looked puzzled. Marthtok? What did that mean?

“I am forced to agree.” Afec picked up the squalling baby. “A pity. And the mother?”

“She is resting. Once the midwife pronounced the infant marthtok, she refused to look at it. It is her second loss. There will be no more.”

Linsha grew even more puzzled. Why were they talking as if the baby was dead when he was right in front of them crying noisily? She watched astonished as Afec cut the umbilical cord, dropped it in a jar of alcohol, and pulled out another smaller jar. He slathered a liberal amount of a greenish cream on the baby’s umbilical wound and handed him to the guards. The woman began to cry softly. While the guards carried the naked baby away, the slave snatched up the blanket and hurried out in the opposite direction.

“What was that about?” Linsha asked, watching Afec wipe his hands thoroughly on a cloth. “What does marthtok mean?”

“It means the babe is deformed. He will not be allowed to live.”

“What?” she gasped. “He looked fine.”

“He had a clubbed foot. To the Tarmaks any deformity or defect in a baby is a death sentence. A child with a clubbed foot does not become a warrior, therefore he has no value. He is a blight on society and must be disposed of.”

“And the mother went along with that?” she exclaimed, shocked by such a thought.

“She is Tarmak. She has no choice. Nor would she want it.” Then his voice chilled with a cold Linsha had not heard before. “And I do not try to stop them because the fewer Tarmaks there are the better.”

Linsha strode to the window and looked out, but the guards had already disappeared. “What will they do to him?”

“He will be left on a high hill to die. The goddess will take his spirit and perhaps send him back in a better body.”

Linsha shuddered. “That’s barbaric. What are these Tarmaks?” she cried. “They eat dragon embryos and murder their own young.”

The old healer nodded. “Among other things. But at least that little fellow will not feel anything.” He moved around the room putting things away.

She turned around and pursed her lips thoughtfully. “The cream. You put something in that green cream.”

“It has a heavy numbing sedative. I usually use it on adults before I have to cut into the body or make stitches.”

Linsha shot a look at the red umbilical cord floating in the liquid and decided not to ask what other potions and medicines he knew that might require something like that. Her shock and anger slowly subsided, leaving a mental aftertaste in the back of her mind that left her slightly queasy. There had to be way off this island and away from these people. There had to be!

“Now, Lady, if you will return to the sleeping quarters and rest. We will meet to discuss your marriage this afternoon.”

A pang went through Linsha’s heart—whether of fear or anger she couldn’t decide. She clamped down on it and banished it to the back of her mind. She still had four days—much could happen in four days—and there were other things to think about. Sirenfal lay ill and mistreated. If that wasn’t enough to occupy her mind, she could kill any thoughts of self-pity with the memory of the small dragon embryo lying in the pool of it own blood or the infant boy being carried out by Tarmak warriors to die alone on an empty, heartless landscape.

Shaken, she thanked Afec and walked outside where the hot sun baked the stone walls and a cloudless sky arched overhead. She considered Afec’s advice then rejected it. The heat of the day felt good on her aching shoulders and her thoughts were too restive to give her peace. She wanted solitude and space to think.

Knowing the gardens would be busy on a fine day like this, she skirted the lawns of the exercise fields and took the running path around the perimeter. The walled enclosure that formed the grounds of the Akeelawasee covered a rectangular area of about ten acres. It was by far the largest open area in the confines of the Imperial palace. Linsha had explored much of it in the hope of finding a way out, but the walls were heavily guarded, and so far she had not found so much as a mouse hole. She reviewed her memories of what she had seen. She had only searched out of habit, knowing an escape attempt toward the city or the interior was doomed. She hadn’t thought about an escape toward the sea, and she’d never bothered to see how close the walls came to the cliff edge.

Her muscles felt warm in the morning sun and her joints were a little more limber, so she broke into a gentle jog that carried her slowly around the small lake, through the copses of trees and flowering vines and out into the open lawns of the farthest reaches of the Akeelawasee. It seemed odd to be out here without Malawaitha to harass her. She hadn’t realized how much the Tarmak woman had preyed on her mind until the vindictive bully was gone. Callista had told her that Malawaitha was buried without fanfare in an unmarked grave somewhere in the palace gardens. Although the regret lingered, and more than a little guilt still gnawed at her, Linsha felt as if a great weight had been removed from her thoughts.

Trotting on, she drew closer to the enclosing wall of the garden, and for a while she followed the path in the shadow of the high stone barrier. She felt the eyes of the guards on her back and ignored them. Let them watch. All she wanted to do was look.

She came to a particular rock formation that jutted out of the ground like the prow of a ship. It was blanketed with lichen and tenacious wildflowers, and it served as the turning point on the trail. From the rock, the trail curved to the right and wound its way toward the opposite wall. The shorter connecting wall, the wall that paralleled the cliffs, was out of sight beyond a low rise and a tall hedge of evergreen shrubs.

Linsha slowed to a gentle walk and veered off the path as if she were simply out for a stroll. Meandering through the grass, she found a narrow path, probably made by sentries, that followed the wall and made its way up the rise and through a thin break in the hedge. The shrubs grew tall and thick and crowded her in their dark green, fragrant foliage. Then she was through, and she stepped out into a different world.

Behind her, past the hedge, the palace gardens were lush and well tended, but here on the edges of the promontory, the greenery had been stripped away and there was nothing here but stone walls and wind-swept rock. She walked forward. Perhaps twenty feet away was the fortifying wall, a massive structure about ten feet thick and thirty feet tall. A narrow stair climbed up to the parapet at the top of the wall and a small guard tower that overlooked the wall and what lay beyond. She could see two guards on the walkway standing with their backs to her, but she knew there were probably more around. Both Tarmaks were well armed and carried bows already strung. It would be better to let them know she was there, she decided, than surprise them and end up with an arrow in her chest. She shouted a greeting in her roughest Tarmakian.

The two Tarmaks whirled in surprise, and as she suspected, two more came running from the tower. They glowered down at her, jabbering at her in Tarmakian too fast for her to follow and gesturing for her to turn back. She calmly ignored their gestures and walked up the stone steps to the walk. Clasping her hands, she bowed to them politely.

“Can any of you speak Common?” she asked.

“Drathkin’kela,” one warrior replied in a rough voice. It was the hetkegul, the warrior in charge of a unit of ten. “You should not be here. This is not for women.”

She bowed again and said a silent thank you. Courtesy was her weapon here, and she was not yet fluent enough in Tarmakian to feign such politeness.

“I am not here to get in your way, Keikegul,” she said. “I just want to sit on the wall and watch the sea. I want to feel the wind and the sun.” She angled herself slightly so he could clearly see the bruises on her throat and on her eye. “I am not like the other women. You know what it is like to ride horses on the open plains and sail the vast seas. I have done that. I have fought in battle like you, and I have ridden the great dragons. This place—” she waved back at the palace behind her—“is beautiful, but my spirit chafes in there. I just want to see something beyond the walls. I will stay out of your way. I promise.”

The Inetkegul looked perplexed, and Linsha offered him her most persuasive smile. He’d probably never had a woman from the Akeelawasee come out and ask to sit on his walls. He talked for a few minutes with his guards while Linsha waited, and eventually he nodded to her.

“You may stay for a short while, but you will go when I tell you. And Ruthig will stay with you.”

She glanced up the towering Tarmak he indicated and shrugged. All four of them could stand around her, as long they let her see beyond the wall. With deliberate care she chose a place in full view of the Tarmaks, climbed carefully to the top, and sat down cross-legged on the sun-warmed stone. The wind from the sea teased her hair and filled her nose with the smell of saltwater. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. The wind was out of the west, and although she could smell nothing but warm rock and cool sea, she fancied that this same wind had swept over Ansalon a few days before and still carried some essence of her homeland on its capricious breezes.

She had come a long way to look over this wall, but she did not look down immediately. Instead she cast her eyes to the sea beyond the harbor, to the northern Courrain Ocean that gleamed a blue-gray in the late morning light and rolled endlessly south toward home and freedom. She looked far beyond the distant shores of the bay, past the dark towers of the Orchemenarc, and concentrated on the hazy horizon between water and sky, and when she had that vision indelibly etched into her memory, she closed her eyes and turned her focus inward to the secret recesses of her heart and the power she knew beat there.

She had not tried this in a long while simply because she had failed so often it was hardly worth the effort. But she had learned why from Danian at the gathering at the Grandfather Tree—the spirits of the dead drained the power for their own purposes. She had never learned why the spirits had been trapped in the living world or why they needed the energy; all she knew were the effects of their desperate hunger. But this place was far from Ansalon and the wars that plagued that troubled land. Maybe, just maybe, the souls were not here.

She drew deeper into herself, putting away the discomforts of her sore eye and aching throat, her wounded hand and stiff muscles, until the world receded from her and she found at last the tranquility she had so desperately missed. Her heartbeat slowed; her muscles relaxed. Slowly she gathered the mystic power of her heart and spread it out through her body to soothe her pain, strengthen her limbs, and invigorate her mind. It flowed through her body, a warm, tingling intoxication that fired her body and her spirit. The spell was almost complete when she felt the familiar faint tickle on her face and neck. The power suddenly drained from her like water from a broken cup and there was nothing she could do to stop it. The spell broke and vanished. She sighed. Apparently there were hungry souls here, too, and the magic was gone for now. At least the spell had worked long enough to serve its purpose. She felt stronger and more vigorous than she had in days.

A hand prodded her back and she heard a voice say, “Drathkin’kela, the guards will be changing soon. You must go.”

She pulled herself back to the world, to the external sounds of the sea below her, to the smells, and the heat, and the wind. Opening her eyes, she looked at the sea’s horizon then let her eyes slide slowly downward until she was staring at the edge of the cliff. Her face lightened into a broad smile.