Ширли Мерфи - The Dragonbards

“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.

“Most of the children want to train as soldiers,” Garit said as he cut bread and cheese and cold meat. “We’re still rounding up the horses that ran off during battle. We’re going to get the farms working again. But come, the hot tea will warm you. Put that pie on the tray, with the seedcakes. I want to hear all that has happened. I want to hear how you found the young dragons. How many are there? Oh, I have a hundred questions.”

Back in the hall, the little owls crowded around the hearth, chattering, waiting eagerly to pick seeds from the round, flat cakes. Garit and Kiri set down their trays on a low table before the fire. “Come,” he said, “make yourselves comfortable.” He put his arm around Kiri, laughing down at her. “You’re as fidgety as a colt. Some owls have gone to fetch Gram. Go on, Kiri— go meet her.”

Kiri hugged him and ran out, her eager mind filled with Gram. It had been only a few days, but it seemed like forever. She ran across the courtyard and through the main gate, and was halfway down the path when a flight of owls burst out of the darkness. Right behind them was Gram, her cloak blowing away from her thin body as she hurried along into the flickering torchlight.

“Gram! Oh, Gram . . .” Kiri grabbed Gram up in a wild hug, swallowing back tears. Gram squeezed her so hard, Kiri forgot how frail the old woman was. Then Gram held her away, to look her over.

“Only a few days,” Gram said, “but you look different.” She studied Kiri’s face. “You look—oh, Kiri— all grown up. You look wonderful.” Gram’s tears started, but she was smiling. “You look very like what you are. The power—the power of the bard shows, Kiri.” Gram’s eyes were bright and laughing. “The power of the sky is in you. And the magic.”

*

When Marshy was warm and fed and yawning, Teb sat down close to him and studied his serious face. Garit left them, to brew more tea.

“Well,” Teb said, “let’s hear it.”

“I mean to go with you, to Aquervell.”

“You didn’t say anything when we were making plans.”

“You wouldn’t have listened. You wouldn’t have let me. You would have said I am too small and Iceflower is too weak.”

“There is some truth in that.”

The little boy looked evenly at Teb. His fists were clenched. “I must go. I am needed.” Teb remained still, caught by Marshy’s urgency.

“I am a child, Tebriel. And that is why I must go.”

Teb waited.

“If I were chained among the slave children, I would look just like one of them.”

Teb’s jaw tightened.

“It might be the only way,” Marshy said.

“It’s too dangerous.” Teb studied Marshy’s set face. “Think of this—if Kiri and I die there, or are captured, there must be other bards to carry on in our place.”

“Camery and Colewolf.”

“And if they die in battle . . . ?”

“There is always that chance, wherever we are.”

Marshy looked at Teb with a seriousness that made Teb forget how young the child was. “I must go. I might get hurt, Tebriel. But I am a bard. I have as much right as you to go against the dark.”

Teb held Marshy’s shoulders, looking at him. Marshy’s gray eyes stared back, steady and earnest.

“There’s something else,” Marshy said. “I know something that neither of you know. I know where the slave children are caged.”

“How do you know?”

“Hanni made a vision, just for the two of us. We saw the children sleeping in cages.”

“And you mean to trade that information for permission to go with us?” Teb shook his head, trying not to smile.

But he knew he didn’t, truly, have the right to stop Marshy. One bard did not hold authority over another.

Marshy looked back, waiting.

“Get to bed early,” Teb said. “Who knows when we will sleep peacefully again in a safe country.”

Marshy hugged him, took a lantern from the table, and went obediently to find an empty bunk. Teb knew that once he was alone, he would speak in his mind to tell Iceflower. When Teb turned from watching him, he saw Gram and Kiri standing in the doorway, framed by an aura of torchlight. He went to them and held Gram in a tight hug. She hugged him back, laughing. Gram had helped him once, risking her own life, when he badly needed help. He felt a special tenderness her courageous ways. And because she was so dear to Kiri.