Dragonbards (9 page)

“So,” Thakkur said.

“He brought a vision,” said Marshy.

“It must have been terrible,” the old white
otter said.

“No worse than before.” But Marshy was
filled with the hopelessness in the faces of the two slave
children.

“Hanni may have seen—or felt—more than you.”
Thakkur sat down on the edge of the dais cradling Hanni against
him, chittering to the young otter. When Hanni didn’t stir, Thakkur
carried him out into the sunlight and along the path to his own
cave and disappeared inside.

Marshy stood irresolutely on the ledge,
looking toward Thakkur’s cave, then toward the diving dragons. When
suddenly the water below the cliff heaved, and Iceflower thrust up
through the waves to stare at him, he was very glad to see her.

“You are angry and afraid. Come onto my
back.”

Marshy scrambled to her back, and she lifted
away from the cliff, over the open sea.

High on the wind, she said, “Now tell me
what has happened.”

“It’s the child slaves. I want to go. We can
help, but Tebriel will never let us.”

She turned her head to look at him. He
stared back into her wide green eyes.

“I could pass as one of the slaves. I could
get inside to them.”

“How would you get them out?”

“With Tebriel and Kiri on the outside, I
could. But he won’t take me!”

“Have you asked him?”

“He’d only say no. He thinks I’m too
small—that you are still too weak. But look how strong you
are.”

“Tell Tebriel that.”

“He won’t listen. If they wanted us to help,
they would have said so when they were making their plans.”

Iceflower bowed her neck. Their minds
joined, secure in the same unfolding thought. She gave him another
long look; then they flew higher into cloud, to make their
plans.

I feel complete trust in only a handful of
our soldiers. Garit is one. I would trust my life to Garit. It was
he who taught the children to ride, who trained their first
ponies—he has been like a brother to us.

*

The sky was the color of copper, the sun
gone behind the mountains, when Seastrider and Windcaller winged up
between streaks of cloud. Below, on the island, Marshy and the
otters were crowded together, waving. The five dragonlings had
settled obediently among the rocks.
Take care,
they thought.
Take care.

Soon Nightpool was only a speck below on the
burnished sea. Ahead shone the lights of Ratnisbon. Colewolf and
Camery were already there, in the Palace of Ratnisbon, making
battle plans with Ebis the Black. Camery carried the lyre now. Teb
would not take it into Aquervell, so near the dark leaders. If they
failed in this rescue, Quazelzeg must not have the Lyre of
Bayzun.

But they would not fail. The unliving would
not keep the bard children.

As they winged above Ratnisbon Palace, an
image touched them of Camery and Colewolf standing before Ebis’s
hearthfire beside his tall, broad figure. Outside the palace, the
black shapes of Starpounder and Nightraider paced the rocky shore.
Our love is with you,
the dragons thought.

And ours with you,
Teb said.

Go with the Light,
Camery said.

With the Graven Light,
said
Colewolf.

Kiri tasted salt on her lips and scrubbed at
her dried tears. She hadn’t known she was going to cry when she
left Papa. They had been parted a hundred times in the war on
Dacia—she should be used to parting. Not half an hour ago, Colewolf
had held her, stroking her hair.
We are together always, Kiri
wren, even when we are apart. You are bone of my bone, child. Blood
of my blood—courage of my courage.

Yes, she thought. Yes, I will be like you,
Papa. She looked across at Teb, filled with a sudden and reckless
wonder, both that she
could
have the courage of Colewolf,
and that she was with Teb, the two of them going to outwit the dark
alone. She saw Teb silhouetted against the burnished sky, against
endless spaces, and she felt dizzy with excitement. He grinned back
at her, and joined his hands in a sign of strength.

The dragons cut north. The continents and
small islands lay like black jewels on the copper sea, each circled
by a ring of white waves. Their world was so beautiful. The dark
must not have all this. Ahead lay three large continents nearly
hidden by tall clouds rising like golden mountains. Beyond these
was Dacia. They would pass high above her home. She thought of Gram
down there, alone, and missed her. There was so much she would like
to tell Gram—you could tell Gram anything.

The dragons flew straight into the clouds,
where the heavy mist turned the wind chill. Kiri huddled down
against Windcaller. They had been flying through the clouds for
some time, and it was nearly dark, when Teb twisted around to look
back.
We’re followed.

Kiri turned, her hand on her sword, and saw
a white shape cutting through the mist. A white owl? No, too big
for an owl. As the two dragons lifted, it drew closer, its wings
pulling the mist into scarves.

Dragonling,
Kiri thought.

Iceflower!
said Seastrider.

Lose her!
Teb said. The dragons
banked away fast.
Go home!
Teb said angrily.
You have no
business here.

The dragonling was silent, beating at the
mist with powerful strokes, gaining on them. When Seastrider spun
and dove at her to drive her back, they saw Marshy hunched down
between her wings.

“Go back!” Teb shouted.

“No!” Marshy cried. “We’re coming with
you.”

“No, you’re not. Go back! It’s too
dangerous. Iceflower is too weak.”

“We came to help. She’s strong—she’s all
well.”

Teb’s anger made him silent. Then,
You
can come as far as Dacia Palace. You will stay there, Garit will
look after you.

We don’t want to be looked after! We came to
help. We don’t want to be left somewhere.

Teb said nothing more. Kiri knew he was
smiling and saw him shake his head, as much with admiration as in
anger. Marshy and Iceflower were a stubborn team. Seastrider and
Windcaller moved close to Iceflower, escorting her on between
them.

When they crossed the next high mountains,
the cold wind pushed up so hard that the dragons were lifted with
it. Kiri shivered. Marshy must be freezing. The little boy sat very
straight, his chin jutting. When they quit the cloud cover, below
them lay Dacia.

The crowded city dropped steeply down the
black mountain to the wharfs and the sea. It was lit more brightly
than Kiri had ever seen it. As they swept low, she could see that
these were not the once-familiar lights of taverns and brothels,
but the lights of cottages and shops and street corners where
vendors had set up booths. She could see folk strolling the
streets, and on one corner they were dancing. Nothing could say
more sharply that Dacia had been freed of the dark. The dragons
banked across the wind, toward the black mountain.

They passed over the palace courtyard lit
with the wavering light of the torches set in its walls. The black
mountain ridge rose above the palace towers. The moon was lifting
above the mountain, spilling light along the jagged stone. The big
dragons headed for the ridge, forcing Iceflower between them.

They came down carefully among boulders.
Iceflower dove into a hollow between boulders and huddled there,
waiting to be scolded. They could all feel Marshy’s defiance. Teb
went to Iceflower and laid a hand on Marshy’s knee.

“You are not going to Aquervell,” Teb said
quietly. “You were wrong to follow us. You will—” He was
interrupted by a whirring wind and wild screams. The bards spun
around, their swords drawn, as the dragons reared, spitting
flame.

But then the bards lowered their swords,
laughing, and the dragons calmed. A band of tiny owls was sweeping
around their heads.

“Elf owls!” Kiri cried, holding out her arms
to them.

They landed on her arms and shoulders and
head, soft gray owls no bigger than her hand. They flew to Teb and
Marshy, and perched along the dragons’ backs.

“Who are you?” they hissed. “Ooo-ooo, who
has come to the mountain?”

“Dragons,” one hissed. “Only one folk bring
dragons.”

They had spectacled faces, round yellow
eyes, and no visible ears. One owl tucked down under Marshy’s chin,
another beneath Kiri’s hair. Their leader hung in the air in front
of Teb’s face, his wings fanning.

“Ooo-ooo. A name, young bard. What is your
name?”

“Tebriel. I am Tebriel.”

“And the others?”

“Kiri, of Dacia. Marshy, of Dacia. Who will
you take your information to?”

“You tell me, young bard.”

“To Garit the Red,” Teb said. “You are a
fine cadre of guards Garit has chosen.”

The owls hissed and fluttered. “Go tell
Garit,” said the leader. Three owls sped away, over the ridge
toward the palace.

It was not long until Garit came galloping
up the mountain, led by owls and holding his lantern high. He
jumped off his moving mount and grabbed Teb and Kiri up in a wild
hug. “Where did you come from, in the middle of the night! Where’s
Camery? Colewolf? What . . . ?”

“They’re fine,” Teb said. “They’re at
Ratnisbon. We’ll tell you all of it, all that’s happened. But
meantime . . .” He glanced toward Iceflower, nearly
hidden among the boulders, and the dark lump that was Marshy,
sitting on her back.

Garit stared. His silence was long, broken
by a sigh of astonished pleasure. He went to stand before the young
dragon, looking up at Marshy.

“You have found your dragon,” he said
softly. “You have found each other.”

Marshy nodded but remained quiet.

Garit held out his arms. “What’s wrong?”

Marshy looked down unhappily, then slid down
into Garit’s hug, hiding his face against Garit’s heavy red
beard.

“They followed us secretly,” Teb said. “They
are waiting to be scolded. They were supposed to stay in
Nightpool.” He put a hand on Marshy’s shoulder. “Well talk about it
later.”

“Come,” Garit said. “Come down to the hall
and get warm.”

The dragons took to the sky to hunt their
supper, Iceflower tagging behind. The three bards moved down the
dark mountain beside Garit’s mare.

“Iceflower will get her scolding privately,”
Kiri said.

Teb nodded. Garit reached down from his mare
and tousled Kiri’s hair. The tiny owls banked and dove around them.
When they reached the palace stables, the owls perched on rafters
and barn doors while Garit unsaddled the mare.

Walking from stables to palace, Kiri stared
up at the black stone wall uneasily, filled with memories of her
years as a palace page. Too many errands through those dark rooms,
too many times when she had stood hidden, spying, terrified of
being caught. The palace was a maze of dark passages and heavy
draperies where anyone, or anything, could be concealed. How many
times she had crouched behind some piece of heavy furniture,
listening to the plans of the dark leaders.

She could not shake the sense of King
Sardira here; her mind was filled with his frightening captains
moving through the shadowed halls.

But Sardira was dead; his officers were
dead. Teb took her hand, and she walked more easily beside him, up
the stone steps.

Garit flung the doors open, and she had
taken two steps into the hall before she caught her breath,
staring.

The hall was not the same.

It was not dark and crowded and depressing;
it was not at all the same. The walls had been painted white. There
was little furniture; no draperies concealed the tall windows, now
lit warmly by the courtyard torches. The floor of the huge square
hall had been scrubbed to a pale, buff stone, and just a few simple
pieces of furniture stood before the fire, with a clay jug of leafy
branches decorating the hearth. The far end of the room held a long
pine table with benches, clean and bare against the white
walls.

Garit stood by the mantel watching her,
looking for her approval.

“It’s wonderful!” she said. “It’s been only
a few days since we left, but you’ve made it beautiful.”

Garit smiled hugely, his red beard and hair
as bright as the flames. He was so pleased that she liked the hall,
and so glad to see them, he couldn’t stop smiling. His great bulk
and broad shoulders were clad in the same kind of familiar leathers
that she had known since childhood.

“We’ve whitewashed the main sleeping
chambers, too,” he said, “and closed off the darkest rooms and
passages.” Many of the palace rooms were black stone caves carved
into the mountain. “The whole city has helped. We moved all the
orphan children, and the children who were slaves, into the royal
chambers. Many of the rebel soldiers have moved in, too.” He smiled
with accomplishment. “We’re turning it into a regular fortress of
young soldiers. But come, help me get some seedcakes and tea.”

She tucked her arm in his and tried to copy
his long strides as she had used to do when she was little. It was
easier now. His voice was filled with happiness as he told her
about the children.

“They’re beginning to get their strength
back, though it will take many of them a long time to get over the
effects of the drugs the dark had fed them. They’re very pale and
weak.” He shook his head. “Some can hardly keep their food down.
They remember nothing but being chained and beaten, being hungry
and cold and hurt. They were delighted just to have beds of their
own and warm covers.”

Kiri put cups on a tray, glancing up at
Garit. It was wonderful to feel this kind of caring in the palace
where, only days before, Sardira’s dull, heavy cruelty had
festered.