Dragonbards (20 page)

In the small hours, when he saw he could not
win, he pretended to falter. He rolled into his blanket and made a
skillful vision of sleep.

Seastrider did not sleep. Each time he
glanced up, she was watching him.

*

Across the continents the pilgrimage was now
a strong army marching steadily north. Slaves had become soldiers.
The cats and wolves and otters and foxes hunted food for the humans
and shared the children’s beds to warm them. No one was turned
away; all had a right to confront the dark on Aquervell.

But the unliving, too, marched north.

*

Quazelzeg was not yet ready for Teb to enter
the Castle of Doors. Deftly he wove visions for Tebriel through the
power he held over him, renewing the black chambers of confusion
that he had erected in Tebriel’s mind and renewing the bard’s drug
hunger.

The twisted visions sucked at Teb in grand
vistas of power, so he hardly remembered that he and the bards
together—or even he and Meriden—might already possess the power to
draw the unliving away from Tirror and destroy them. He clung to
the grander plan. He fought his confusion sometimes, sweating and
trapped in the consuming pit of Quazelzeg’s will. But more often he
followed the dark dream. Day came, then night again. He made no
move to set out for the mountains. Seastrider did not sleep but
watched him steadily. She would not allow him to leave the hill.
When dark soldiers skirted the base of the hill, Seastrider drove
them off, raging at Teb to fight them.

Teb would not. He turned away from her,
nursing his own thoughts. For two days he dreamed his grand dream
and longed for the power-strengthening drugs, and waited for
Seastrider to sleep. He did nothing to help Meriden.

Late on the second night, when Seastrider
could no longer keep awake, when she dozed in spite of a terrible
effort of will, Teb moved away from her down the dark, rocky hill.
The craving drew him powerfully. If, in some dark recess of his
mind, it terrified him, too, he ignored that. The black desire
pulled him on, toward the night sounds of Sharden.

Sharden’s streets were narrow,
rubbish-strewn, and dim. He stumbled through them eagerly. The city
smelled of stale food and animal dung . . . and drugs.
Ahead of him, shouting crowds had gathered for some brutal
entertainment. Teb hurried to them, drawn by the scent of
cadacus.

He found cadacus easily, all he wanted, and
licked it from dirty spoons like any drug-ridden creature. Folk
watched him, interested. When he was well drugged, they moved in
and began to shove and caress him. But when two men ripped his
tunic open, he clutched the exposed lyre, shocked into sense—and
terror. His tormentors paused, staring at the lyre. Drug-crazy men
and women surrounded him, reaching for it.

He backed away from them, protecting the
lyre drunkenly. The horde pressed close. He struck the lyre’s
strings into harsh music to drive them back. Its power stopped
them; they stood shivering and gaping.

But when he turned away, they followed. He
fled, reeling, through narrow rubbled streets, using the lyre’s
music to drive them back. But as he ran, the lyre suddenly fell
silent. The dark hordes gained on him. Thakkur’s warning rang in
his head—and a sudden, sick dismay overcame him.

It was thus Seastrider found him, pursued by
a lusting rabble through alleys. She dove, tearing down walls to
get at him, breaking buildings and driving men back against
shattered timbers and into distant streets. He stood watching her
sweep toward him and was filled with love for her—and with
shame.

She dragged him up into the sky, carried him
back to the hill, and dropped him on his blanket. She stood staring
down at him, her long green eyes cold with disgust.

“What is your excuse tonight, Tebriel? You
were not chained to a table tonight. You were not force-fed cadacus
tonight.

“This night’s stupidity was your own doing!
Tonight, you used the magical powers of the lyre, which were meant
to save our world—
you used them to save yourself!
To save
your own hide from the terrible results of your stupid, blundering
weakness!”

He stared up at her, flayed raw by her fury.
She didn’t need to be so violent when he felt this sick.

“Why have you come here to Aquervell? Do you
remember that, Tebriel?”

“What makes you so angry?”

“You do. Your stupidity does. Your weakness
makes me retch with disgust.”

He wanted to slap her. “What do you mean to
do about it?”

“It is not what 1 will do about it. It is
what you will do. What
do
you mean to do, Tebriel?”

He looked at her coldly. But he realized,
with sick shame, that only Seastrider’s anger kept him from sinking
completely under Quazelzeg’s power. When she changed suddenly from
anger, and her eyes became dark with hurt, he stared at her,
shaken. Her voice became softer and incredibly sad.

“Do you know, Tebriel, how difficult it is
for me to rage at you thus? Do you know how it tears at me? I want
to comfort you. I want only to curl around you and warm and comfort
you.”

He stared at her uneasily—this wasn’t
fair.

“The drug hunger possesses you, and I cannot
fight it. Kindness cannot fight it. Kindness can only weaken
you.”

He started to speak, but her look stopped
him.

“Only you can fight this, Tebriel. Only you
can defeat it. I cannot.” Her look was the saddest he had ever
seen. “If you do not fight it—and win—you will destroy us both. And
you will destroy Meriden.”

He felt shame so sharp he could not look at
her.

He knew what he must do—now, before he could
falter again. He trembled with terror of Quazelzeg and of the dark
worlds, and of how the dark might reach him beyond that barrier.
But Meriden struggled alone to draw the dark away from Tirror and
to stop a larger invasion. He must go there at once, to help her,
before his courage failed altogether.

It did not occur to him to wonder why, when
Quazelzeg could mold his mind so readily, he still felt driven to
go into those distant worlds to help Meriden. Whatever occurred to
Seastrider she kept to herself. Perhaps her wisdom told her that
not until the challenge was faced could he be free.

As dawn began to lighten the sky, Teb made
ready in a dull silence born of drug sickness. Seastrider was
quiet. But once he was mounted, she leaped powerfully into the
slate-gray sky, pulled fast above the concealing clouds, and swept
north.

Within the Doors, time and distance are as
nothing. One can be as close as a breath and as far away as
forever. I pray to the Graven Light to help us. I think it is the
only power that can.

*

Quazelzeg’s chambers in the palace at
Sharden were crusted with jewels stolen from a thousand worlds, his
furniture covered with gold leaf and inlaid with platinum, his
carpets woven of rare silks and human hair. In the small hours
before dawn, he stood among the rich furnishings locked in
vision.

He watched Tebriel and his dragon wing north
toward the Castle of Doors, and he smiled. The bard had fought a
ridiculously heroic battle within himself— and was caught as surely
as a fox is caught in a trap.

Young Tebriel wanted to help his mother. How
very touching. Oh, yes, the link between mother and son was strong.
But Tebriel’s midnight journey into Sharden and his obedience to
the dark powers had weakened both of them. Afterward, it had been
easy to drive Meriden back when she appeared to him again. She had
retreated quickly. Yes, young Tebriel had strengthened the dark’s
powers considerably.

Quazelzeg was satisfied that now Meriden no
longer had the power to pull
him
through into other worlds.
Now he would enter only as he chose. Very soon, she would no longer
hold any barrier against the hordes he would call into Tirror.

It was not easy to bring the dark creatures
through; it had not been easy to bring the vamvipers. It took great
concentration to master them and draw them from endless worlds.
With Meriden and her interference, it was even more difficult.

But she would not hold them back much
longer. Through Tebriel, a rent had been torn in the power she had
laid down. Soon a wraith or incubus would slip through, and her
power would be further weakened. One barrier down, and the dark
creatures would break all barriers and swarm into the city. Then
Tirror would be his completely. Not even the lyre could fight such
an army.

Meantime, managed skillfully, mother and son
could be played against each other.

It was fortunate that last night Tebriel had
used the lyre. Now it would take some time for the lyre to
replenish its magic.

Meriden’s words echoed unpleasantly.
The
Ivory Lyre . . . will defeat you. The spirit of Bayzun
will defeat you. . . .

But that would not happen now. The lyre was
silent. And very soon the lyre would belong to him, would belong to
the world of the dark.

*

Teb and Seastrider flew through a dawn as
gray and desolate as winter. They recalled the vision of the Castle
of Doors and scanned the deep mountain ravines and tall peaks,
which became wilder as they moved north. But not until late
afternoon did they see the familiar tangle of shifting domes and
ridges crowded around the center. Seastrider dropped low to wing
down shadowed chasms, seeking a way in.

They followed winding ravines and twisting
ridges. Flying back and forth, they circled towers, searching,
until they nearly lost hope of finding a way in. But suddenly, as
they soared through a shaft of bright sun, Seastrider swerved
through a black slit between mountains.

Blackness swallowed them; they spun, sucked
down.

Valleys dropped below them miles deep, only
to turn into peaks thrusting miles high. Caves and tunnels twisted
into uncounted rooms that vanished, to be replaced by others. Seas
became deserts; the sky darkened into night and suddenly burned
with day again. Winds whipped at them and lifted and dropped them,
and were gone. As the world around them shifted, Teb’s nerve
failed. How could they find Meriden here?

How could any invasion of dark creatures be
discovered, and held back, in this nightmare?

As flotillas of boats pushed across the
strait toward Sharden’s city, the eight dragons, too, crossed the
last stretch of sea. They passed over palace and city and dropped
down among giant boulders on the rocky hill. They knew that Teb and
Seastrider had been there on the hill and that they had gone. Kiri
was cold with terror for Teb, close to panic, and held steady only
by the strength of the others. They watched from among the boulders
as the armies of light pulled their boats onto the shore and
gathered across Sharden’s hills. There were dark troops camped
around the palace. The power of the dark reached out and kindled
terror in the rebels and animals, but so powerful was the rebels’
commitment that no one thought to turn back. Scattered campfires
sprang up as folk made hasty meals.

*

Seastrider flew on through streaming light
and through blackness, searching the stone twistings and echoing
spaces. Neither she nor Teb knew how they would find Meriden, but
they shouted her name. Their cries were swallowed by the vast
spaces. Was there anything to hear them? Seastrider leaped chasms
and sped down twisting tunnels between shifting walls that opened
suddenly into emptiness or closed before them in barriers of
stone.

As they fled through endless worlds, they
knew that the armies of light had attacked Quazelzeg’s palace,
flanked by the diving dragons. They saw the soldiers of the
unliving crouched in masses along the palace wall. As time shifted,
the cries of the battle echoed down otherworld chambers. Winter and
summer met them and were lost; worlds fell away and other worlds
loomed; and visions of the battle followed them.

How long they forged ahead, they couldn’t
guess. They knew only that Tirror was caught in a terrible and
decisive war, and that still they had no clue how to stop it—how to
drive back the dark, how to prevent more dark creatures from
pouring through, how to find Meriden. Teb’s mind was nearly drowned
in confusion, when he began to hear Meriden’s voice echoing down
vast distances. . . .

Tebriel . . .

Seastrider swerved toward it.

Tebriel . . .

They swerved again and dove through tunneled
chambers.

The grave, Tebriel—find the grave of Bayzun.
Find the cave where Bayzun lies in death. . . .

They twisted and sped like hounds, following
Meriden’s echoing shout.

Bayzun’s cave . . .

Suddenly Seastrider banked and slipped
across the wind into a gigantic well of air circled by steep
mountain walls.

The chasm was so deep they could not see the
bottom, only mist. A far, small hole of sky shone above them. The
well was washed by winds that lifted and played like churning
waters. In the side of a mountain yawned a cave. Something white
gleamed deep inside. Seastrider banked to it.

Inside the cave loomed the white skeleton of
the great dragon, sire of all Tirror’s dragons. The arch of his
white ribs melted away into darkness, supporting the thick white
spine, then letting it down to snake its twisting way alone. The
heavy white head faced them, its black empty eye sockets seeming
filled with power. Seastrider snorted with a wild awe, planted her
feet on the thin ledge, and folded her wings in a gesture of
deference. Teb slid down and approached the skeleton. Neither his
gaze nor Seastrider’s left the dark shadows of those hollow
eyes.

This was why they had come.

Teb slipped the lyre from inside his
tunic.

As if in answer to his gesture, he heard
Meriden cry,
Yes, give the lyre to Bayzun.