Ширли Мерфи - The Dragonbards

Kiri watched dragon and dragonling lift above her and disappear beyond the mountain. She felt lost, torn away from Teb, and she was cold with fear for him. Windcaller stretched out before the cave entrance, watching her. The two owls who had stayed went inside the cave to grub after insects in the rough walls. Kiri stood staring at the empty sky for a long time, trying to be with Teb in her mind. But her vision was stifled by the closeness of the dark. She strained for any sound, and heard nothing. At last she turned back into the cave, drank some water, and lay down with her head on her pack. But her stomach felt empty with terror. Very soon Teb and Marshy would be alone within the walls of the unliving. Windcaller said, “You were not afraid all those years you spied for Dacia.”

“Yes, I was. You didn’t know me then. I was afraid for myself, and for Papa.”

“Oh,” Windcaller said. “But you did your job anyway.” She gave Kiri a stern look. “Your fear cannot help Tebriel and Marshy. Only your strength and your cleverness can. You must rest and be ready.”

Kiri scowled at Windcaller and closed her eyes, knowing she couldn’t rest.

*

As Seastrider and Iceflower circled above the palace, the only movement in the courtyard was the shadows thrown by the torches, leaping across the still bodies of the jackals. The dragons dropped to the wall, left Teb and Marshy there, and banked away toward the mountain, out of sight.

Teb looped his rope over a spike and went down, his hand never far from his sword. Marshy swung down close behind. They moved toward the slave cage, skirting the drugged jackals. Inside the cage, the children were a dark mass of sleeping bodies huddled close together. Neeno swooped down from the top of the cage and laid the key in Teb’s hand. Teb unlocked the gate, and they slipped in, to search, staring into sleeping faces.

They searched for a long time. The two bard children were not there. A dozen chains hung empty. Marshy chose one, and they tried the key to make sure. Yes, the same key unlocked both gate and chains. Marshy locked the steel cuff around his ankle. Teb left him, locked the gate behind him, and passed the key in to Marshy. Marshy hung it on a cord around his neck, underneath his clothes, and settled down in a position of sleep. If he didn’t use the key, if they were still there at dawn, Afeena would return the key to the palace before the dark soldiers woke.

Teb followed Afeena’s faint flutter as she led him to the outbuilding she had chosen. There, she dropped to his shoulder, to speak softly.

“Neeno and I will be on the roof above you. We will wake you if they bring the children back, or . . . if there is need.”

Teb ducked inside and settled down against some barrels, listening for the first stirrings of the jackals. He had an ugly picture in his mind, of a jackal flying up to snatch a little owl from roof or wall. He had not dared drug the creatures enough to leave them asleep when Quazelzeg’s soldiers came out at dawn. From his position in the shed he could see part of the courtyard and the slave cage.

He did not mean to sleep. He dreamed of Thakkur, and felt his love powerfully, and then his admonition, Take care, Tebriel—take care . . . He woke to a fluttering “Ooo-ooo” that jerked him from sleep with his hand on his sword.

“Shh, Tebriel.” Afeena fluttered before him in the graying darkness. “They are coming to take the slaves to the fields. The two bard children were in the cellar! They are being brought up to the courtyard now.”

“Did you return the key?” “I did.”

Teb pulled his loose cloak over his sword, moved back among the tools, and knelt beside a wooden plow as if examining the blade. Soon there were footsteps behind him. He heard tools being taken up, men’s voices, then, from the yard, the clang of the metal slave gate. Chains rattled, and a voice barked, “Wake up, you filth. Get out of there, get in line.”

When there was sufficient commotion in the toolshed, Teb rose, took up half a dozen hoes, and joined the other men. The sky was a flat, heavy gray. The guards were featureless black shadows within their hooded cloaks.

The slave children were marched toward the fields, the limping ones slapped along by the guards. Teb could not see Marshy. The procession was flanked by growling jackals that had come awake irritable and snapping. As it grew lighter, Teb pretended to cuff the children, and he swore at them in a low, angry growl, mimicking the other guards.

On their left lay fields of cadacus plants, waist high and heavy with pods. The sky was growing lighter. But the woods on his right were still thick with shadow. He saw Marshy ahead, stumbling along in a group of children. He searched for the boy with red hair and the dark-haired girl and watched among the trees for the owls. Jackals began to fight among themselves, biting children as well as each other. Suddenly four small shapes winged between the shadowed trees, and Teb felt easier. If he or Marshy was discovered, it would be only minutes until the owls alerted the dragons. He had no sense of the dragons’ voices in his mind, or of Kiri.

As half the children were herded into a field, Teb saw the red-haired boy. The child had stumbled, and a guard kicked him down into the mud, knocking off the dirty cloth he had tied around his head. His hair was red as flame. He had a fresh, bloody wound across his forehead, and his face and arms were bruised. Teb saw Marshy looking, but when a guard paused, Marshy felt Teb’s fear and turned back, and began to hoe sullenly. The guard turned away to snap a cadacus pod off a bush, crack it open, and lick the dry fibers inside.

Teb moved ahead, keeping his face down. He looked for the owls but couldn’t see them. A lone jackal was winging low in the sky, but he knew the owls wouldn’t let themselves be taunted by jackals. He stood slackly, like the guards, seeming to stare at nothing as he searched the ranks of children for the girl. None of the guards paid any attention to him. The two un-men seemed caught between waking and that silent, stony staring the unliving did in place of sleep. The rest seemed simply sullen, or drugged.

Teb couldn’t see the girl. Hardly aware he was staring at the red-haired boy, he felt the child touch his mind.

Don’t stare at me—turn away! Who are you?

Teb reached to hit at a child near him, turning his back on the bard child. I’ve come to get you out. Where is the girl?

In the next field. Don’t trust her.

But she—

Don’t trust her. The boy went silent as, ahead of them, guards began herding some of the children together, teasing them, making them crawl and grovel, then trying to make them lick the cadacus pods. Some children refused, fighting with terror. Others took the drug obediently. When the obedient children groveled, the guards shoved them and laughed. They beat the children who refused the drugs. Teb watched, feeling sick, keeping himself still with a terrible effort. Marshy’s silent cry was pleading, No, Tebriel—don’t let them. . . .

The redheaded boy jerked around to stare at Marshy.

Teb watched, fists clenched. They would risk everything, they would risk the bard children, if they helped.

We can’t, Marshy!

He tried to meet the redheaded boy’s eyes, but the child’s face had gone closed and stupid. There was another scuffle, the guards swore, a girl screamed with fury, then voices were lowered. The guards sent the children back to work. Two soldiers started down the lane toward Teb dragging a girl between them.

It was the bard girl, her dark hair tangled around a pale oval face. She was fighting and shouting. “You promised! You promised you wouldn’t hurt me!” The soldiers dragged her toward Marshy, jerked Marshy out of the field, and shoved the two toward Teb. At once, he was surrounded by guards, their swords pricking his ribs and throat. When he whistled to signal the owls, a guard hit him across the face.