The Defenders' Apprentice

Chapter 1

The pale fire tongues of the dragons' realm flickered away as the warmth of the rite receded into the offering place, into the earth. The heat between their bodies flowed into the place where he could never follow. Thorat gazed up at the eggshell dome as he reached out to run his hand along Iola's smooth back. The trance was leaving her, too, leaving them alone together as themselves, at last.

"I'll send for tea," Iola said.

Instead of answering, Thorat pulled her closer. They had so little time together.

She draped the red robe around her shoulders to go out to the garden to summon her attendant. When she danced, that robe became a river of molten fire, but now it was just very fine clothing, separating him from her and reminding them both of her calling. As ambassadress, she had dozens of petitioners, princes and guild masters, wealthy merchants, the governor. He'd come to bring the Defenders' offering, but he wished that he could come just for himself, to be friends again, even ordinary lovers.

When she returned, she went to a quiet alcove, far from the altar where he lay. He pulled away from the last thin traces of dragonfire and went to sit beside her, holding hands, human again. When he edged closer, she pulled away and turned to face him, letting only their feet touch.

"Tell me: what news do the Defenders bring this year?"

"We haven't been down to the shrine yet. I should have waited until after that, but Sunna said that you wouldn't be able to see me after tonight," Thorat said. "There aren't enough of us to go to all the gates every year, either, but those we saw were quiet." The worst news wasn't news at all. They hadn't had a single new apprentice in years. Dragonsight was dying out, and the Defenders with it.

Iola nodded. "The princes tell me that the dragons guard their own gates now, or so they must be doing, to keep the foreign miners away."

"I don't know what keeps them away, but I'm fairly sure it's not the princes."

"Surely, they wouldn't let their trading partners steal the heart of their lands."

Was she so isolated here that she believed that? "At least the foreign miners can't find the gates on their own, so there's that much to keep the dragons safe, even when we can't go," Thorat said.

Iola looked down at her hands and frowned. "Unless a priestess helped them."

She was not utterly ignorant of what was happening beyond her marble walls, then. A long moment stretched between them, and he was about to reach out to hold her hand when she spoke again.

"Who is the Enatel?" Iola asked. "He can't be dragon-blind, so why does he send you rather than come to me himself?"

Thorat hesitated. It seemed hard to believe that after all these years, she still didn't know who the Enatel was, but he'd seen no reason to tell her, and apparently no one else had either.

"Of course I want to see you, more than I want to see anyone else, I really do." She bit her bottom lip. "It's only that I wonder."

Thorat took a deep breath. There was no reason not to tell her. "The Enatel is a woman now, even though she's Enat's heir, so of course she can't come." Sovara was a thin, gray-haired woman who had nothing good to say about priestesses in general, stealing offerings meant for the dragons, lazy in their luxuriant temples.

"She did send our offering, though," he said. "She made it herself."

"She could come to me," Iola said. "The rite is not dependent on the petitioner's sex, you know."

"It isn't? I don't think she knows that. I'm sure I didn't." He didn't much like the thought of Sovara lying with Iola, though it wasn't as bad as the thought of the governor heaving over her, understanding nothing.

"Most priestesses aren't willing to draw from another woman as they would from a man, if they even know how, but you're right; I would rather see you, while we can," Iola said. "Show me now: what did she send?"

Thorat handed her the package and she leaned against him as she unwrapped it. She smiled with appreciation as she held it up to see, a double-edged blade, wider than most, with an intricately worked handle.

"A dragon-grooming dagger. How lovely," she said.

There was a quiet clatter of cups and plates as Iola's attendant set the tea tray down outside. Iola brought it in and placed it on a low table between them. She poured Thorat a glass of wine, then filled her own cup with tea. She reclined, her raven hair flowing down over the crimson robes and alabaster skin. He reached for a cake.

"The Aralel wants me to retire, but I can't," she said.

"Why not? You've been ambassadress a long time now; what is it, five years?" Most ambassadresses didn't last nearly that long. The journey to the dragons' realm wasn't easy for a human, but then, Iola was closer to the dragons than anyone else he'd ever met.

"Six years. This will be my seventh descent."

"There must be dozens of priestesses who'd want to be ambassadress, despite the danger."

Iola shook her head. "Dozens of foolish, dragon-blind girls. It's not that there aren't enough; it's just that they're not the right ones. A few of them might survive one voyage, but no more than that."

"I wouldn't think it would be so hard to find priestesses." The Defenders couldn't find apprentices with dragonsight, but that was different. After all, his order wasn't supposed to exist, while the priestesses offered wealth, power, and as many of Theranis's best cakes as a person could want, every day. They were very good. He took another.

"The oracles say that there's a scrappling this season who might be fit to journey to the dragons' realms. There was one last year, but they missed her. I hope they don't miss her again this year." She looked up at Thorat. "You're out on the streets. If you find that girl, the one with dragonsight, could you bring her to me?"

"I'll do what I can," Thorat said. "Anything for you."

Iola half-smiled. "They all." She stopped herself, but Thorat knew that he'd said something foolish, something that made him sound like just another lust-addled petitioner. He drained his cup.

"If you retired, you could leave the temple," Thorat said, another absurd idea. The only place retired priestesses went was to the hills, and there were bandits in the hills, lawless, violent men. He shuddered at the thought.

Of course, Iola laughed. "Not yet, not yet. Besides, I'll be a creature of the temple and the dragons as long as I live." Her face shone in the lamplight. It was true, but that didn't make him want her less.

"Darna and Myril left the temple, didn't they?" Thorat said, as if Iola were like them.

"They never wanted to be priestesses, not as I did. I am this." Iola indicated the room around her with its rich carvings, draperies, jewels, and the offering place. It was foolish to try to imagine her in a mountain hermitage wearing flea-ridden furs.

In the outer courtyard, a bell rang.

"I told them, no more tonight," Iola said, sounding suddenly tired. She grasped Thorat's hand, then wrapped her arms around him. He held her, wishing that the moment could go on forever.

"It could be the new Slaradun prince," she said, pushing him away. "It would be good to have some taste of Salara before I see her again. In any case, you have to leave. After Midwinter, come see me as soon as you can. Promise it. Swear it."

"I will. I do." Thorat let her pull him back into the bath chamber, the way he came and went in secret. "Be safe; be well," he said, though it didn't seem like enough. "Send my love to the dragons."

Iola glanced to the outer doorway, then ran back and kissed him, full on the lips.

"Now go!" She pushed him toward the secret passage.

Thorat hurried away before any more foolish pledges of love could fall from his lips into that unforgiving splendor.

§

Eppie woke under the still-cool shade of the bridge. The traffic of feet and carts grew noisy on the bridge above and the sun beat hot on the canal bank. The others were still sleeping beside her. She sat up carefully, not wanting to wake them yet. Mist rose from the canal in delicate feathers, fading into the air. The dragonlet-if she was not only a figment of Eppie's imagination-hid in the crevices between the stones, her green scales blending with the moss-green rocks and twining into the earth, as dragons were said to do.

"Hey, lazybones," Eppie whispered, prodding one of the sleeping boys.

"What?" Squid grumbled.

"It's morning."

"'Course it's morning," he said. "I'm going back to sleep."

Squid had gone to the taverns the night before to pick pockets and look for an apprenticeship. Mostly to pick pockets, though; that was what he usually did when he wasn't fighting. Eppie was nearly his equal in both pursuits - pickpocketing and fighting - but he was better known. Probably that was just as well. Squid left a trail of confusion in his wake, like ink, like the darkness he disappeared into. If he'd ever had another name, it was long forgotten.

"They'll run out of bread," Eppie said.

Squid half sat up. "I don't need the temple hens' bread. You go."

He rolled over as if to go back to sleep while Eppie wormed her way out of the blankets. Squid was always grumpy in the morning, but today he was more talkative than usual.

"D'you think the...