Ширли Мерфи - The Dragonbards

He took her beneath the green-lit sea to swim through shafts of light and shadow beside sunken mountains, playing chasing games with Charkky and Mikk. He showed her Charkky’s mischievous underwater tricks and his own fear, sometimes, of the huge moving shadows in the deep. He showed the otters grooming air into their coats to keep warm in the sea, and how they had learned to use the knives and spears Teb helped them steal, and how, reluctantly, they had learned to use fire.

“When I was sick with fever, I slept in Thakkur’s cave. I wasn’t any taller than Thakkur then. He used to tell me tales at night before I went to sleep, tales of the sea, of how the whales and porpoises sing, of giant fish deep down, and of ghostly things hidden in the sea. He told of the sunken cities where the old lands were flooded, how you could gather oysters from a palace roof and swim through old, mysterious rooms.”

“You were happy there,” she said. “Now I know what you were like when you were twelve years old. I wish—I wish I’d been there with you.”

“I—so do I,” he said quietly. “It was a perfect place, Kiri—learning to swim deep under the sea, all the good shellfish I could eat—that was perfect once I found the flint and a cookpot, so I didn’t have to eat it raw.”

“It was hard for you to leave Nightpool.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t have left if I hadn’t felt . . . begun to think about the sky.”

“Yes,” she said, her eyes deep and knowing. “The dreams of dragons—of moving above the world, diving on the wind . . .”

“Yes.” He looked and looked at her. They had known the same longings, had stared up at the sky with the same emptiness.

“But you went from Nightpool, really, to seek the hydrus and kill it. Was it . . . was it terrible?”

Surprised at himself, he shared his terror of the three-headed black hydrus, with its cruel human faces. It had carried him in its mouth, miles out into the sea. He showed her his helpless desperation as he climbed away from it up the exposed wall of the drowned city. He had clung to the top of the wall, surrounded by endless miles of sea, shivering and sick. He let her see how he felt as the hydras forced its twisted thoughts into his mind, willing him to become its slave.

“But you defeated it. You killed it, Teb.” Her look was deep and admiring.

He was silent, remembering.

“When—when you found that your mother had been there in the sunken city—that she wasn’t dead after all—how did you feel?”

Teb shook his head. “Angry at first, that she had deceived us, that she let us think she was dead. But crazy with excitement that she was alive. I wanted to go to her, through the Doors to other worlds to search for her, but her dragon drove me back.” He showed her the undersea Door, which was linked by a warping of space into the Castle of Doors. He showed the white dragon Dawncloud, rearing over him to make him stay back, then charging through, to search alone, and the Door swinging closed. Neither Meriden nor Dawncloud had returned.

“Endless worlds,” he said, “worlds filled with evil.”

“There must be good worlds, too.”

“Yes. But it is the evil worlds that will watch her as she looks for a way to destroy the dark. How could one bard and one dragon survive among those worlds?”

“She is strong, Teb. Surely the good powers among those worlds will help her.” Their look was long and close. She knew his thoughts at that moment as clearly as her own.

Seastrider and Windcaller rocked quietly on the sea, glancing at each other, filled with tenderness for the bards they bore.

When Iceflower woke, they lifted fast, spraying sheets of water, climbing up into a hard, racing wind that battered them but carried them with strength. But still, they had to drop to the sea every few hours so Iceflower could rest. Soon the sun was falling behind them, and they had not made enough miles. They rested as the sky turned red, and when they lifted up through the darkening sky, their flight was even slower. Soon it was deep night, and they were sweeping through low, tattered rain clouds that soaked them with fine mist. Teb could not stop thinking of the danger to Nightpool. And little Hanni was moaning and thrashing, asleep in the leather sling.

Camery said, “He’s so restless, and he’s been muttering. Shall I wake him?”

Teb looked through the mist toward Camery and Nightraider. “No. What good to bring a vision now? We’re moving as fast as we can. Let him sleep.” Maybe he didn’t want to know. He was already strung tight, tethered by their slowness.

They rested again when the rain slaked. Iceflower was weaker. There was danger that the dark would sense them faltering over the middle of the sea. Teb sent Rockdrumlin and Bluepiper to scout south for a small island where Iceflower could rest more easily. It began to rain hard. Only Hanni, in his leather sling, remained dry. Their minds were filled with thoughts of dark soldiers galloping toward Nightpool. Iceflower tried as hard as she could, stumbling through the sky. When Windcaller moved near to Teb, he could just see the curve of Kiri’s cheek between white wings.

You mean to go on alone.

I must.

I want to come with you.

They looked at each other in the darkness. The two dragons swept close, and he reached across space for Kiri’s hand, their arms freezing in the cold wind.

Alone, you might not stop the dark’s attack. But two dragons, one from each side—dragon fire driving them back . . .

She was right. And he wanted her with him. But he didn’t want to endanger her. Yet that was not fair to a bard. A sense of battle filled him, of cold urgency, and when the two dragonlings returned with news of a rocky islet, he looked across at her and nodded.

Seven dragons headed for the island. Seastrider and Windcaller banked away, east, beating fast against the wind, driving themselves on with powerful wings until, ahead in the gray dawn, shone the first small islands, scattered black on the reflecting sea. Kiri pushed back her hood and leaned down, looking. As the sky lightened, the vast mosaic of islands and small continents lay mottled across the gleaming sea, stretching away to their left. Windthorst was straight ahead, Teb’s own land of Auric describing the south quarter. They stayed above cloud, looking.

There was no sign of battle, no movement. They swept over Auric’s green meadows but saw no figure near the palace, not even a horse. So empty, Kiri said. Teb studied the palace, and was filled with homesickness. And though the land might look deserted, they sensed that it was not. The dragons lifted and headed for Nightpool, a black speck off the eastern coast.

They circled the little black island. White breakers licked its seaward cliffs. Nothing stirred on the rocks or in the sea. They dropped low but saw no otter fishing or gathering clams or playing in the shallows. Teb and Seastrider settled onto the water as Windcaller swept away north, along the coast.

Kiri leaned between Windcaller’s wings to search, but no army moved below them—they saw no sign of battle, no ships on the sea. The land was as empty as if every living thing had vanished from Windthorst. Not until they banked inland did they see the torn field of battle, strewn with dead soldiers. They dropped low, Windcaller’s wings casting shadows across the bodies.

How strange, Kiri said.

More than strange, said Windcaller. There was not one dead horse among the hundred or more dead soldiers—and these were not foot soldiers; they wore the yellow tunics of the dark warriors, who always went mounted.

The palace of Ebis the Black lies to the north, said Windcaller. They circled above the palace, hidden by cloud, and saw horses in the stable yards, people on the streets idling, selling goods; and they could hear music. Surely this city had not been attacked. They headed for Nightpool.