Dragonbards (22 page)

“
We
did not kill
Quazelzeg. . . .”

“The light . . .”

“The Graven Light. . .”

They moved at last, to kneel beside their
wounded. They tended some wounded on the battlefield and carried
the most grievously hurt to the palace. The voice of the lyre had
stilled. The spirit of Bayzun was gone, back into the centuries.
When the mortal dragons glided down to the palace, Seastrider,
Windcaller, Nightraider and Starpounder crowded around their
mother, bellowing and slapping their wings over her. They had been
only dragonlings when Dawncloud had left them to search for
Meriden. The bards slid down, laughing, amid the tangle of wings
and sparring dragons. Teb turned away and went directly into the
palace, carrying the body of Thakkur safe beneath his tunic.

Camery hugged her mother so hard Meriden
gasped, laughing and hugging her back. They looked at each other
silently, each seeing something of herself. Meriden touched
Camery’s face, her hair.

“It’s still pale gold. I used to braid it
all down your back. And when you rode, little wisps would come
loose.”

“And when you washed it, I cried.”

Meriden laughed. “You had a tantrum,
sometimes, when I washed your hair. Oh, you did cry. And—and when I
went away,” Meriden said, “I cried. I had lost you—and Teb—and my
true love.” She wept again, and they held each other for a long
time.

*

Teb found tools in the palace and went alone
across the hills to cut a straight oak. He hewed out a coffin for
Thakkur and laid him in it, his whole being filled with grieving.
He nailed on the lid and carried the coffin to the hill where he
had first come with Seastrider. There he piled boulders around it
until he could give Thakkur a proper burial. When he came down the
hill, Meriden was waiting for him. He saw in her eyes clear
knowledge of his pain.

Teb held her, needing her as if he were a
child again. As they clung together, it might have been, again,
that windy fall morning when he was small and she had held him and
said good-bye.

He said, “I read your journal.”

“Yes.”

“How did you make the entries that
. . . came later?”

Her eyes widened. “I . . . wasn’t
sure I could. I hoped that maybe . . .” She shook
her head, smiling.

“There are such powers beyond this world,
Teb. I hoped . . . I wrote messages with spring water—on
the ground, on stone walls, anywhere, because I was so lonely
sometimes. As if writing words could link me to you. One
message—the last message—I prayed that you would see that.”

She gave him a cool, steady look. “The diary
pages I wrote when you were small—I was wrong not to tell you and
Camery that you were dragonbards. I was as wrong as the unliving,
who kept the true history from Tirror.”

“No. It was different. You meant to save us
pain.”

“Not at all different. I took your own
history from you. I did it to save you, but the result is the
same.”

“You must not feel that. If anyone has been
foolish, I have.”

She put her fingers over his lips and kissed
his forehead. “Quazelzeg is dead. The force that we battled is
gone. That’s all that matters. The power of the unliving is gone
. . . from this world.” She took his face in her hands,
and her green eyes were very alive.

“There are other bards, Teb. Beyond the
Doors. So far away . . . lost out there. They could come
home, find their way home now that the unliving are gone. There are
other creatures also,” she said, “wanting to come through—to come
home. Unicorns, Teb. And . . . there are dragons.”

“Dragons,” he said, his thoughts filled with
Kiri’s longing.

“Dragons that search for their bards.” She
studied his face, touched his thoughts, and smiled. “A dragon the
color of seas, who yearns for a bard he says is of Tirror.”

Teb’s heart quickened.

“A dark-haired girl,” Meriden said. “He says
she is called by the name of a bird.”

“A wren!” Teb shouted.

“Yes,” Meriden said, smiling.

He laughed out loud with pleasure. “The
great cats call her Kiri wren—a love name.”

“The dragons will come,” she said. “The
dragons will find their way—that dragon certainly will—and the
bards will. But now . . .”

She turned, and when Teb looked, there were
unicorns on the hill around them, moving delicately, their horns as
bright as sun on water. They pushed around Meriden, nuzzling her.
Their scent was like honey, their fine muscled bodies warm and
silken to stroke. They nosed at Teb and rubbed their bright horns
against his shoulder. But soon they began to move out onto the
battlefield, to nose and touch the wounded, to heal where they
could heal.

Teb and Meriden made their way to the
palace. They knelt with Kiri and Camery over wounded soldiers and
animals, to doctor their hurts. Mitta was there, washing away
blood, applying poultices and sewing torn flesh. Hanni knew about
Thakkur. He clung close to Mitta, helping her, his small face
desolate with grief.

The wounded kept coming, hobbling or
carried. The bards housed them in the palace courtyard and in the
main hall, tearing down ornate draperies to make soft beds. Ebis
and his soldiers made stretchers from palace furniture and brought
in the most seriously injured, though Ebis himself limped from his
wounds. Camery rebound his leg where the bandages were soaked with
blood. She thought he should soak it with poultices, but he said he
hadn’t time. He went back to the wounded again, and not long
afterward he returned to the hall carrying Charkky, the little
otter pressed against his black beard shivering with pain.

“His shoulder is badly torn,” Ebis said,
kneeling to lay Charkky on a blanket. The bards knelt around
Charkky. Teb examined him as gently as he could. Charkky gritted
his teeth when Camery cleaned the wound. Teb held Charkky’s paws
while Camery pulled the torn flesh together and stitched it up.
Even when the needle went in, Charkky tried his best not to yell.
Instead he bit Teb hard on the thumb.

Afterward, he stared at Teb, chagrined.

“It’s all right,” Teb said. “You couldn’t
help it.”

“I never dreamed in all my life I would bite
you, Tebriel. Tease you, maybe, hold you under the water, but not
bite you.” He looked around. “Where is Mikk?”

“Here,” Mikk said. “I came to find you. Hah!
You look like a fine warrior in that bandage.” Mikk knelt and
stared with concern into Charkky’s face. Hanni came to press
against them. Mikk gathered up the little white otter and held him
tight.

The palace hall grew crowded with the
wounded, both human and animal. Kiri rose from doctoring a rebel
soldier and stood watching Teb. She knew he grieved for Thakkur,
and took his hand. They stood looking over the crowded hall. There
was nothing she could say to ease his terrible remorse. He would
never heal from it. She couldn’t change what had happened; she
could only be there for him, be close to him.

When Teb turned away to help Colewolf with a
wounded child, Kiri saw two cats carried in, limp and bleeding, and
was riven with fear, again, for Elmmira. She went to search, though
she had looked and looked across the battlefield for the tawny
cat.

She and Windcaller scanned the body-strewn
fields and hills. They saw Mmenimm, saw Aven and Marshy carrying in
a fox and two owls. Windcaller circled, working farther away from
the palace, until they saw a pale buff cat among the boats of the
harbor. Kiri leaned down with relief to call to Elmmira.

The big cat was dragging an un-man from a
sailing boat. Two captains lay on the shore. When Windcaller
dropped down, Kiri saw the bloody claw marks slashed deep through
their yellow tunics. She thought the one with the greasy hair was
Captain Vighert. She slid down and went to look, but suddenly she
felt weak and dizzy, as if everything was catching up with her.
Elmmira came to her. Kiri knelt, to lean against Elmmira’s warm
shoulder.

“It’s all right now, Kiri wren. It’s all
over now.”

“I know, Elmmira.” She looked into Elmmira’s
golden eyes. Elmmira always made her feel better. The great cat
licked her face. “You are tired, Kiri wren.”

“I never thought Teb would return. When we
first got to Aquervell and came down on that hill, and he was gone,
I thought . . .”

“But he did return.” Elmmira purred loudly.
“It’s all right now, Kiri wren.” She drew back, her whiskers
twitching. ‘Tebriel is looking for you.”

Kiri turned, to see Seastrider banking along
the shore. The white dragon dropped toward them and settled beside
Windcaller. Teb reached down to take Kiri’s hand.

“Come, sit on Seastrider’s back.”

She looked up at him, puzzled.

“Come on.”

Windcaller nuzzled her shoulder, then lifted
away toward the sea.
Hungry,
she called back.
I’m going
fishing . . . .

Kiri climbed up in front of Teb. It was
strange to be on another dragon. Teb was warm against her, his arms
strong and warm around her. They sat close for a long time, not
saying much. After a while, he said, “I have a surprise for
you.”

“What?”

“I won’t tell you. Well show you.”

Seastrider snorted and rose fast into the
wind. Kiri could feel the white dragon’s delight, but what kind of
surprise would so please a dragon? They banked toward the mountain
ridge that rose north of the palace. It shone dark now, against the
dropping sun, streaked with deep black ridges along the mountain’s
face. Seastrider winged close, into the heavy shadows. Kiri stared,
puzzled—but her heart had begun to pound crazily.

“There,” she cried suddenly. “Oh!”

A dragon exploded out of the shadows—a big,
strapping dragon. He banked so close to them that his wind rocked
Seastrider, and his wings brushed Kiri’s face. He was sea colored,
blue and green and shimmering. He swept by, staring at Kiri with
eyes of green fire. He winged close again, stretched out his long
neck and handsome head, and breathed his warm breath across her
face. He smelled of spices and of the salty sea. She stared into
his eyes, laughing, crying, wild with things she could not express.
“Varuna,” she whispered. “Your name is Varuna!”

He matched his wings with Seastrider’s so
his body rocked against the white dragon, and Kiri climbed onto his
back and snuggled down between his wings.

When she looked over at Teb, her face was
filled with a wonder and glory that turned him warm with love for
her.

“How . . . ?” she began.

“He came through the Doors,” Teb said.
“After you left to search for Elmmira. He was suddenly there in the
sky beside Seastrider, when she and the dragonlings went to
feed.”

Kiri lay down along Varuna’s neck. As he
lifted away, she blew Teb a wild, ecstatic kiss. The green dragon
swept up, and up, and broke through the cloud cover. They
disappeared up there, into a world silent and private.

Our most vivid moments make actual for us
the mystery of our existence in this world. But it is dragon song
that brings alive the mystery of the past within us.

—
From the diary of Meriden, Queen of
Auric, written after her return to Auric.

*

For nine days the army of light remained in
Sharden’s city, trying to mend itself. The unicorns moved among the
wounded, healing those they could heal. But nearly every day there
was someone to bury. The townsfolk brought bread and fruits, meat
and milk, but there were not enough herbs for medicine, not enough
healing skill even with the unicorns’ magic.

Teb spent most of his time with Charkky and
Hanni, for, while Charkky was nearly well, Hanni was not. The
little otter lay huddled next to Charkky, his small white face
filled with grieving. Many otters fished for him, but he wouldn’t
eat. Meriden was with him often, and the unicorns came to kneel
around him. They licked his white face and made what magic they
could, but Hanni’s grief seemed beyond healing. His silent cry
echoed in Teb’s mind, and when the small otter overheard plans for
Thakkur’s burial ceremony, he was nearly hysterical.

“No! Thakkur is not dead! Thakkur cannot
die!”

“Hush,” the unicorns said. “Hush.” They
stood touching Hanni with their horns, the gentle bright beasts
giving what magic they could. But they could not heal him.

Meriden knelt before Hanni and took the
golden sphere from her throat. She hung the chain around the small
otter’s neck, where it lay gleaming against his white fur. “Do you
know what this sphere means, Hanni?”

“En-endless life,” Hanni said. “The endless
sphere of life.”

“Exactly.” Meriden sighed and pushed back
her tawny hair. “You are Thakkur’s heir, Hanni. Only you can carry
on that endless thread for Thakkur. Do you understand how much
Thakkur counted on you to do that?”

Tears coursed down Hanni’s face.

“If you do not do this for Thakkur, you will
surely condemn him to a true death. Only you can make Thakkur’s
power live, now, on Tirror.”

Hanni stared at her.

She looked up at Teb. “Sing, Tebriel. Sing
of the island of Nightpool.”

Teb wove a song of Nightpool so luminous
that the unicorns stared up at him with longing. He brought alive
the clear green sea foaming white against the black cliffs,
showering salty spray into the caves. He showed the young otter
cubs bobbing and shouting in the surf, otters napping in the kelp
beds and diving to the deep sea valleys awash in clear green light.
He showed the undersea world with its mountains and shadows and
forests of waving sea plants so powerfully that all who listened
could feel the sweep of the tides and hear the sea pounding in
their ears. He made a song of Thakkur’s cave, its shelves filled
with the white otter’s sea treasures, all his shells and coins, and
the big ugly skull of the shark.