Dragonbards (16 page)

Camery laughed and rubbed Iceflower’s nose.
“I expect you are. But you will be high above the clouds with your
brothers and sister.”

“Why? What use would we be up there?”

“That is the way it will be,” Camery said.
“You are our second line. You are to come down only if you are
badly needed.”

“But Rockdrumlin has already gone to
battle,” Iceflower argued.

“Rockdrumlin carries Charkky and Mikk
against Auric Palace. I want the rest of you just where I said. You
are very important—you will be there if we need you.”

Iceflower looked at Camery steadily. Camery
stared back. At last Iceflower subsided, calmed herself, and gave
over to the warmth of the poultices. She had laid her head down,
her eyes half closed, when a little cough made them turn.

A white fox stood in the moonlight, a broad
grin on his narrow white face, a look of rollicking high spirits.
Kiri stifled a shout and grabbed him up in a hug, though she knew
it destroyed his dignity.

“Oh, Hexet! It’s so good to see you!”

“Hexet the Thief,” Elmmira said, purring,
stroking the fox with a big paw.

Hexet leaped down from Kiri’s arms and began
to groom himself, embarrassed at having been held. “The foxes of
Nison-Serth are with me,” he said. “They are trying to cheer
Tebriel—or at least get him to be civil.”

Kiri said, “He hasn’t had an easy time.”

“Seastrider told us. Pixen is trying to talk
to him.”

But when they looked, Teb had walked away
from Pixen and all the foxes, was striding away alone, along the
ledge. The foxes stood staring after him, dejected, their tails
low.

*

Teb paced the cliff, angry and hurting and
ashamed. He had never been rude to foxes. The foxes had saved him
from capture in the caves of Nison-Serth, he had hidden in their
dens and learned their secret ways, and he loved them well. Yet
just now he had snapped at them and turned away. A deep
hopelessness filled him, as if he could do nothing right—a driving
hunger for defeat that made him feel even guiltier.

He stood staring morosely down the mountain,
torn with anger and defeat, filled with pain at the little foxes’
hurt.

He knew he had to change the way he was
thinking.

He had to gather himself to fight. Despite
his twisted thoughts, he burned to kill Sivich. Yet even his rage
against Sivich, and his desire to win back Auric, seemed somehow
useless.

The waiting for Sivich to move made him even
more irritable. The man had to move out soon if he meant to attack
Nightpool under darkness. Doubts and dark voices pulled at Teb. He
paced the cliff, shunning the others, until well past midnight.

The rushing sound of an owl messenger
winging to them stirred him. A big barn owl dropped down out of the
wind, straight for Camery.

“He’s saddling up,” the masked owl
whispered, “saddling up—moving out. . . .”

Word sped among the troops. Below the cliff
they could hear the hushing of hooves as Sivich’s mounted troops
headed their horses toward the open plain. The rebel troops
followed, working their way down the dark cliff.

When Seastrider nudged him, Teb swung to her
back, slipped, then righted himself and swung up. He felt Kiri and
Camery watching him. He sat on Seastrider scowling as the dragons
rose on silent wings into the moonlit sky. They made straight up,
to lift above the blowing clouds, out of sight.

Sivich had moved well away from the
mountain, and the rebel troops were still hidden within the
mountain’s shadow, when the dragons dropped low and began to
sing.

Dragon song shattered the night. Its images
moved across the plain, filling the minds of Sivich’s troops as
water will fill empty bowls. A phantom sun spun to life, to
brighten the valley. And the valley was peopled with riders from
long-past generations. Sivich’s soldiers stopped their horses,
stared around them, and cried out as daylight flamed across the
plain and the images of men and women and children traveled past
them, laughing and calling to one another. They watched as the
phantom travelers made camp.

They saw herders ringing bells that brought
their sheep and goats galloping to cluster around them. They saw
children harvesting wild grains with magical knives that cut the
wheat by themselves. They saw a trading market, and so real was the
vision that Sivich’s soldiers dismounted and wandered among stalls
of bright wares. They examined silk gowns that held the
enchantments of love, tunics that would turn away any weapon, clay
jugs of wine that would never grow empty. They stared into
laughing, happy faces filled with a well-being that they had never
felt.

Sivich’s soldiers watched water wizards make
springs bubble up from dry ground; they saw a woman who wanted
music hold up her hand so that the birds came flocking and
singing.

Sivich’s dark captains shouted and pulled
the staring men to the ground and beat them, but the men paid
little attention. They rose again, to move within the dragon
vision. They saw, for the first time in their lives, folk with
Tirror’s magic still on them, folk who were free and were their own
masters. In the bright visions spun by dragons and bards, Sivich’s
dull soldiers saw a life they had never dreamed possible.

They had been cheated: The dark had taken
their pasts and their freedom. They stared up at the dragons
circling above them and understood what dragon song did—it gave
them back themselves.

They knew, for the first time, that they
need not follow the slave masters.

Not all the soldiers woke from their
enslavement. Some were too far gone in the dark power. Those who
did wake drew their swords and spurred their mounts and rode down
their dark masters. Camery’s troops, and the dragons, came storming
to fight beside them. The awakened rebels slaughtered dark
soldiers. Owls dove into the faces of terrified horses to stampede
them. Great cats and wolves leaped for screaming riders. On the
outskirts of battle, otters and foxes waited for those who escaped
on foot. But in the confusion, five dark leaders spun their horses
and sped away south, Sivich among them. Only Camery
saw. . . .

Sivich,
she shouted.
Sivich
escapes.
She swung her sword wide as Nightraider came down over
two escaping captains. She cut one from the saddle as Colewolf slew
the other. Ahead of them, Sivich fled.

He’s mine!
Teb shouted. Seastrider
dove for Sivich’s broad, humped shoulders. All confusion left Teb,
his mind was clear and intent. With one hard thrust, his sword ran
Sivich through. He pulled Sivich across his lap and stared down
with triumph.

“I am Tebriel of Auric! Do you remember
me?”

Sivich stared, his eyes bulging.

“You murdered my father. You kept me as
slave. Do you remember me now? You murdered the King of Auric. Now
I
am King of Auric!
Do . . . you
. . . remember . . . me?”

Sivich gasped for breath, his lips
white.

Get on with it.
Seastrider said.
Finish him.

Why should I hurry? I’m enjoying this.

That is just the point, Tebriel. Too much
pleasure in the killing.

He killed my father. He took cold pleasure
in that. Mind your own business.

This is my business. You don’t need to enjoy
killing so much.

Teb ignored her and watched with cold
satisfaction as Sivich struggled. “Look on my face, killer of my
father. His death was painful, and so will yours be. Perhaps you
enjoy the kiss of the shark—for it is the sharks of the sea that
will have you.”

Seastrider swept out past the surf, and Teb
dumped Sivich into the sea far from shore. They saw the big sharks
gather. “All right,” Teb said. “They’ll finish him—get moving.”

But Seastrider didn’t race for the fighting;
she slowed, slipping on the wind, turning to look back at him.
“What is it, Tebriel? Something terrible pulls at you.”

His thoughts stumbled in shadow.

“What’s the matter with you, Tebriel?”

“Nothing’s the matter.” Why had they come
here to threaten Sivich’s troops? He shook his head, dizzy and
angry, and blocked his thoughts from her. In the black spaces of
his mind, something compelling spoke. Seastrider stared back at
him, shocked, pressing her mind stubbornly into his.

“Stop it, Seastrider! You have no
right.”

“I have every right!” She glared at him,
then suddenly she slapped her wings into the wind and joined the
battle, slashing and belching flame. He could only cling, furious,
refusing to touch his sword. She swept over Ebis’s troops fighting
Sivich’s soldiers herself, though Teb refused to fight. He heard
Ebis’s shouting and he wanted . . .
wanted . . .

He woke out of blackness, to pull himself
back from shocking thoughts that cut searing across his soul,
sickening him.

He felt Seastrider’s relief.

Dawn was coming. He saw Windcaller dive,
banking close to him. Kiri raised her sword in salute. “You killed
him! You killed Sivich!”

He nodded and raised his sword to her, and
laughed. But his mind dropped again into confusion, and, unable to
help himself, he reached out to the distant thoughts that spoke so
softly—when he saw high in cloud a lone dragonling, he was
infuriated that Rockdrumlin’s triumphant voice cut across his own
searching thoughts.

The palace is secure,
Rockdrumlin
shouted.
The rebels have taken it! Charkky and Mikk are in the
tower, directing everything.

Teb scowled with annoyance at Rockdrumlin’s
jauntiness and returned to the urgent voice that pressed so close.
He ignored Seastrider’s anger. When he looked into the northern
sky, he knew the presence was near. He knew—he must call it, bring
it now. . . .

No, Tebriel! No!

His mind reached out to the living black
cloud that appeared over the mountains. He smiled as he watched it
lift, shifting and swelling until it swept over the last ridges
toward him.

Sometimes I dream that I can speak between
worlds, that I can create a vision that would touch Tirror even
after I’ve gone through the doors. But surely that is only a dream,
a wish to be close to those I love.

*

The black cloud dove at the battlefield,
filling the wind with its stink, and a thousand black wings beat at
the faces of dragons and bards, blinding them. Five hundred
wrinkled bat faces searched, red mouths screaming; claws and teeth
tore at living flesh as little red eyes sought for tender
throats.

Your throat—cover your throat,
a bard
shouted.
They want blood.
Whose voice? Colewolf s? A voice
that tore Teb from confusion and slapped him back into truth—to the
horror that was swamping them, the horror of his own treachery.

I did this, I led them
here. . . .

No!

He swung his blade at the stinking black
creatures, mad with shame and fury.

Across the battlefield, the creatures
blinded Windcaller and forced her down, nearly smothering Kiri.
Camery held her leather tunic tight around her throat as sharp
claws tore at it. Beyond her, Colewolf fought the clinging bats
with his knife. Small teeth found his throat. He stabbed the
creature and jerked it away. A thousand wings battered, five
hundred mouths tried to suck.

Blood ran down Camery’s neck as Nightraider
floundered on the wind—then Teb’s thought exploded in her mind,
pulling her back.
The lyre! Use the lyre! By the Graven Light,
use it now. . . .
The vamvipers downed their
victims, then left them for others. Human throats were quickly
wrapped in leather, but the animals had no protection.
The lyre,
Camery! Use the lyre!

Camery clutched at the harness, dizzy, as
Nightraider plunged on the wind. The blackness of his thrashing
wings and of hovering vamvipers smeared into one blackness. She
pulled the sucking bats from Nightraider’s wings, and from her own
face, but there were so many. She felt so dizzy, terrified for her
dragon, and terrified for herself.

“
The lyre! Use the lyre!”
Teb’s voice
cried, so far away. She pawed at the lyre, but its chain pulled
across her, and the little lyre dangled dangerously on the wind.
She jerked it back, cold with panic.

Suddenly Seastrider was above her.

The white dragon hovered beside Nightraider
in a tangle of wings. Teb reached out for the lyre. Camery tried to
swing it free and nearly fell. A cloud of vamvipers hit them.
Nightraider twisted under their pummeling force and dropped,
crashing through trees.

High above, the dragonlings bellowed with
fury at the black cloud of vamvipers that broke apart in dizzying
sweeps below them. They heard Teb shout, “
The lyre! Use the
lyre!”
and they wondered where Camery was. The vamvipers
wheeled and dove below them, in killing waves.

“Dive on them!” Bluepiper roared.
“Dive!”

“Burn them!” Firemont screamed. “Dive!”

“Wait,” Marshy shouted. Something yellow was
flapping and darting above the black cloud, screaming with a
commanding voice that cut and stabbed. . . .

“A queen!” he yelled. “They have a
queen!”

“Kill her!” screamed Iceflower.

The dragonlings dove, but the queen slipped
between them and was gone. They separated and dove again. She
dodged and fled. Below them the battlefield was a melee of falling
horses and riders. The darting vamviper queen shivered as the
dragonlings came at her again. When they had the queen trapped
between them, she sped straight for Aven’s throat. Bluepiper
twisted and bit at her, but the yellow vamviper darted beneath him,
out of sight.

Suddenly Aven dove into space.

He grabbed the queen, dropping through wind.
He clutched the squirming, leathery bat queen, amazed that he had
actually caught her. When he squeezed her throat, she twisted and
fought. Falling on the wind, he choked the vamviper queen until her
bloody mouth gaped and she went limp. He was falling,
falling. . . .