Dragonbards (14 page)

*

Garit and the two soldiers bent heavily to
the oars, pushing the raft through shallow surf toward Dacia’s
wooded shore. As Kiri leaped to the bank to make fast the line, the
dark branches above her shivered and a big winged shadow burst out,
to dive straight at her. She ducked, laughing, as the big owl
flashed dark, gleaming feathers in her face. “Red Unat!” She held
out her arms, and Red Unat dropped into them so powerfully he
nearly knocked her over. He clacked his red beak, and shook his big
ears. His yellow eyes blazed fiercely. His manners were as abrupt
and crusty as ever. But he was a true friend—a skilled spy and
messenger for the underground. She and Papa had worked with him
here in Dacia, and Teb had known him in Nightpool. The big owl
snapped his beak again. His voice was coarse and gravelly. “About
time! About time you got here! Tired of waiting! Thought that dark
continent swallowed the lot of you.”

“It almost did,” Kiri said, stroking his
dark, sleek wing.

“The wagons are waiting,” Red Unat said.
“Hitching up now, to take the children.” As he looked up at the
sky, now growing bright, the pupils of his eyes narrowed to
slits.

Teb stood up, leaning on Garit’s shoulder.
“Red Unat! What brings you? Has Sivich attacked Nightpool?”

Red Unat shook his feathers. “Sivich’s
warriors gather for attack. Every traitor the dark can muster is
camped at the Palace of Auric.” He stared at Teb. “You look
terrible—all scars and bruises. I’m glad to see you are alive,
Tebriel.”

“So am I,” Teb said. “What is Sivich’s plan
of attack?”

“He means to destroy Nightpool just at dawn,
then go straight up the coast to burn Ebis’s palace. He waits only
for additional troops.” Red Unat smiled, a wicked smile. “Sivich
doesn’t know the otters sank his courier boat, so his plea for
troops didn’t get through.” He clacked his beak in an owlish laugh.
“He’s furious at being tricked by animals, his horses taken, half
his supplies gone, half his soldiers dead. Our owls have spy holes
in every nook and attic of the palace; we hear everything.” The big
owl stretched his wings, then snapped them closed. “But we cannot
be overconfident. Sivich is a pawn of the dark powers—they will not
let him lose so easily again.” He looked around the little group.
“Another owl will come when Sivich is ready to move. Tell me what
word has reached the dark leaders at Aquervell.”

“We don’t know,” Teb said. “We
. . . were lucky to get out of there.”

“That I can see. Well, no matter. I have
sent owls on, to Quazelzeg’s palace, to find out. Let’s get these
children onto the wagons. Did you get the bard children out?”

“The girl has gone on, with Marshy,” Teb
said. “The boy is here.” He drew Aven to him.

Red Unat stared at Aven. “Fine boy!” he
shouted. “Hair as red as my beak!”

Aven blushed.

“We lost two brave owls,” Teb said. “The
jackals killed Theeka and Keetho.”

Red Unat’s feathers bristled. His glare was
terrible.

“Neeno and Afeena are badly hurt,” Teb said.
“They’re in Kiri’s pack, warm and as comfortable as she could make
them.”

The big owl poked his face at Kiri’s pack
and murmured to the small owls. He remained talking to them until
the wagons came rumbling out of the woods.

The children were bundled in among blankets.
Teb and Kiri rode with them, while Seastrider and Windcaller swept
off toward open sea to feed.

By the time they reached the palace, Kiri
could think of nothing but food. She took Teb’s hand, and they
headed for the kitchen. Garit carried the little owls into his
chamber to doctor them, calling for raw meat. Red Unat rode on his
shoulder, giving instructions.

In the kitchen, two townswomen were frying
wheat cakes and lamb. They shouted when they saw Kiri, and hugged
her. Both had fought beside her. The younger woman was a crack shot
with bow and arrow, the thin, older lady had run the candle shop
where the resistance hid weapons and food. Kiri kissed them and
stood with Teb at the stove, eating as fast as they served up the
food, blowing on each piece of lamb or wheat cake as it came out of
the pan. Nothing in her life had ever tasted so wonderful. There
was all the milk they could drink, and all the bread and cheese and
fresh fruit they wanted. It took her a long time to get filled up,
much longer than Teb. He soon pushed his plate away, looking tired
and pale.

They stayed in the bustle of the kitchen, at
the big table, as platters were carried out to the hall for the
children. Teb was morose and silent.

“It’s all over, Teb. We did it—we got the
children out.”

He didn’t say anything.

“It’s over, Teb.”

“I should have fought Quazelzeg harder. I
. . . kept dropping into blackness, where I thought there
was nothing to fight against. I—I
wanted
to belong to him,
Kiri.”

“I know. The dragons and I sensed your
battle.”

His eyes searched hers, sick at what she had
seen.

She took his hand in both of hers. “I’m glad
I was with you.” She tried to see his strength, see the old
rebelliousness in his eyes, but she didn’t quite find either.

When they left the kitchen at last, to look
for Marshy and the bard children, Kiri felt cold and disturbed.
They found Marshy and Darba tucked up in bunks, under linen sheets
and warm blankets, sound asleep. Aven lay awake, too filled with
thoughts of Bluepiper to sleep.

“When will I see him? When will we be on
Windthorst?”

“Soon,” Kiri said. “Very soon.” She
straightened his covers and hugged him. They stayed with him,
talking softly, until he drifted off. When they returned to the
great hall, the children were still feasting, whispering softly,
still too unused to their freedom to be loud and natural. Kiri
wanted to gather them all in and care for them.

When she sat on the raised hearth, beside
Teb, a thought kept nagging at her, that Teb might be much harder
to heal than she had thought. She pushed the idea away. When she
looked up, a big owl was hovering in the sun-filled doorway.

It was a brown barn owl with a face like a
mask, its eyes squinting in the sunlight. When it did not see Red
Unat, it dove straight to Teb.

He was smaller than Red Unat, but bigger
than the little gray owls, brown as chocolate, with a creamy face.
His voice was as deep as a drum.

“Sivich will attack tonight. He will ride
straight for Nightpool.”

Teb sat up straighter, studying the owl.

The owl said, “Sivich was overheard to say
he intends to sleep in the bed of Ebis the Black tonight— after a
supper of roast otter.”

“He’ll burn in hell first,” Teb said.

“His armies wait for darkness, in the caves
north of Auric.” The owl smiled a fierce hunter’s smile. “At
nightfall, Camery’s troops will gather on the high ridge above
them—where they can come down on Sivich like an owl on a tangle of
mice.”

Teb laughed. “And we will be there. We will
leave Dacia two hours before dusk, to arrive on the ridge just
after dark has fallen.”

Kiri felt her heart ease with the return of
Tebriel’s sure, uncomplicated strength.

“I will take the message,” the owl boomed.
He swooped to the breakfast table, gulped down half a plate of lamb
and wheat cakes, and with one wink at Teb, sped out the door, for
Auric.

It was later, as Kiri and Teb knelt on the
floor of the hall cutting out harnesses for Bluepiper and for one
other young dragon, that she said, yawning, “I need sleep badly. So
do you.” When she looked up, she was amazed at the anger in his
eyes.

“What did I say?”

“I don’t need sleep. Don’t nag me.”

“I’m not nagging! Of course you need sleep!”
She stared at him, crushed. He stared back, furious, but she saw
pain deep beneath his anger, and saw confusion at his own temper.
Yet when she reached to put her arms around him, he scowled and
turned away, his thoughts closed to her. With a final angry glare
he rose and left the hall.

She knelt there, staring after him, then
followed. But halfway to the door she stopped and stood watching
his retreating back. Then she spun around and ran—across the sunlit
hall past the staring children, and out into the courtyard and
across it. . . .

She burst into the cottage, startling Gram
at the cookstove, and threw her arms around her.

When she was done crying, Gram sat her down
and gave her tea and fresh bread spread with butter and honey.
After finding Kiri a handkerchief, Gram said, “It was bound to
happen. Be glad he is a bard.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You wouldn’t want to be in love with an
ordinary man. Your father loved an ordinary woman. Life was hard
for them. Teb’s mother loved an ordinary man. A king, but ordinary,
not a bard. It must have been terrible for him when she left. You
love a bard. Be glad.”

Kiri stared at Gram. Love had nothing to do
with this; she was only concerned for Teb, frightened at the change
in him, hurting at the terrible thing that had happened to him. She
shivered and buried her face against Gram’s shoulder, uncertain how
she felt.

“It will be all right, Kiri.”

“He’s so angry, Gram. So . . .
different.” She didn’t want to say weakened. She didn’t want to say
possessed, or remember Quazelzeg’s words . . .
The
bard is mine now. . . .

Gram held her and didn’t say anything, and
after a while she was telling Gram all that had happened in
Aquervell, all the terror of Quazelzeg’s terrifying invasion of
Teb’s mind.

When she had finished, Gram held her close
while she cried again. She had never been one for hysterics. What
was the matter with her?

‘Tebriel needs rest, Kiri. Let him be
awhile.”

Kiri shivered.

Gram held her away, looking hard at her.
“Give Tebriel your faith. And your trust. He is still Tebriel! He
fought beside you to save Dacia. He bled in the arena, nearly died
there. Oh, Kiri, the terrible twisting of his mind, the pain, the
drugs—it will take time for him to heal, but he
will
heal.
Give him time.”

She looked steadily at Gram. “We leave for
Windthorst two hours before dusk. To fight Sivich and the dark
armies.”

Gram’s look went naked with fear. Then she
smiled. ‘Tebriel will be strong. He will be strong, Kiri! And you
will be strong, with him. Now, come, you need rest.”

Gram bedded her down on fresh sheets, near
the wood fire. “Sleep for a little while. I will wake you in
midafternoon.” She kissed Kiri, looking deep into her eyes, and
left her.

But Kiri didn’t sleep. She lay awake
thinking thoughts that would not let her sleep.

There are many evils beyond the doors that
could destroy me. But to give in to my fear would destroy me
without question.

*

When the dragons had fled Quazelzeg’s palace
courtyard, the dark leader stood cold with rage that a dragonling
had been so nearly captured, then lost. He swore at his inept
captains and watched impatiently as the stronger officers tried to
strike order.

As officers and troops came to attention,
all eyes focused on him. He looked them over, searing his gaze into
them until the humans among them flinched.

“You have lost the dragon. You have lost the
slaves
and
the bard children with your clumsiness.” He
paused, letting them sweat. No eye dared blink, no hand move.

“You have failed the leaders whom you
serve!”

He did not mention Tebriel’s escape. He
would have freed Tebriel anyway. The Prince of Auric was his now;
Prince Tebriel would do his work now. Quazelzeg smiled. Now,
Tebriel himself would help him recapture the bard children and help
him snare the dragonling— whether willingly or unknowingly didn’t
matter. No distance, now, could destroy his hold over the bard
prince.

How interesting the way these things worked
out. He had no notion how Tebriel had found out about the captive
bard children, but on balance, Quazelzeg knew the dark had gained
more than it had lost.

Still, he must have the child bards back.
And he would have the dragonling with them.

“Mechek, Igglen, you will take forty men,
ready a ship, and go after the bards. You will return to me only
when you have the two bard children—
and
the dragonling.”

The officers dared not speak.

“I will use my powers to help you,” he said
with studied softness. “I will see that Tebriel himself leads you
to those you are to capture.”

The officers stared.

“Go on! Get to Lashtel! What are you waiting
for! Go and ready a ship, to follow the dragons! They will head
either for Dacia or for Windth—”

Suddenly the courtyard was gone.

He stood alone in a dark mist.

There was no sound. He shielded himself with
power. What trick was this?

A black Door shone before him, cut sharply
out of the mist, a heavy Door strapped and hinged with iron. As he
looked, it grew taller until it rose as high as his castle towers.
When it swung inward, he stood scowling into the deeper darkness
beyond. Such a trick could not last long—no one had the power to
deceive him for long. He raised his hand to wipe the vision away,
but a woman appeared in the doorway, and her presence held him
still.

She was tall and tawny haired. Her green
eyes shone with an intense, disturbing power. He willed her away
from him, yet he was drawn to her. A white dragon slipped out of
the blackness to rear and coil around her, spreading its wings
above her. It stared down at him with eyes like hers, eyes of green
fire. Its tongue came out and curled and licked as if it would like
to snatch him up and swallow him.

The woman’s voice was soft. “You are
Quazelzeg.” She smiled, but not a soft smile. He was staring at
her, deciding which power to use to banish her, when he saw Sharden
lying below, as if he stood on a mountain. Sharden—
his
city,
where lay his second castle. He could see his disciples and slaves
down there; the woman and dragon were there, as well as here before
him. There were other dragons winging above the castle.