Ширли Мерфи - The Dragonbards

They stayed in the bustle of the kitchen, at the big table, as platters were carried out to the hall for the children. Teb was morose and silent.

“It’s all over, Teb. We did it—we got the children out.”

He didn’t say anything.

“It’s over, Teb.”

“I should have fought Quazelzeg harder. I . . . kept dropping into blackness, where I thought there was nothing to fight against. I—I wanted to belong to him, Kiri.”

“I know. The dragons and I sensed your battle.”

His eyes searched hers, sick at what she had seen.

She took his hand in both of hers. “I’m glad I was with you.” She tried to see his strength, see the old rebelliousness in his eyes, but she didn’t quite find either.

When they left the kitchen at last, to look for Marshy and the bard children, Kiri felt cold and disturbed. They found Marshy and Darba tucked up in bunks, under linen sheets and warm blankets, sound asleep. Aven lay awake, too filled with thoughts of Bluepiper to sleep.

“When will I see him? When will we be on Windthorst?”

“Soon,” Kiri said. “Very soon.” She straightened his covers and hugged him. They stayed with him, talking softly, until he drifted off. When they returned to the great hall, the children were still feasting, whispering softly, still too unused to their freedom to be loud and natural. Kiri wanted to gather them all in and care for them.

When she sat on the raised hearth, beside Teb, a thought kept nagging at her, that Teb might be much harder to heal than she had thought. She pushed the idea away. When she looked up, a big owl was hovering in the sun-filled doorway.

It was a brown barn owl with a face like a mask, its eyes squinting in the sunlight. When it did not see Red Unat, it dove straight to Teb.

He was smaller than Red Unat, but bigger than the little gray owls, brown as chocolate, with a creamy face. His voice was as deep as a drum.

“Sivich will attack tonight. He will ride straight for Nightpool.”

Teb sat up straighter, studying the owl.

The owl said, “Sivich was overheard to say he intends to sleep in the bed of Ebis the Black tonight— after a supper of roast otter.”

“He’ll burn in hell first,” Teb said.

“His armies wait for darkness, in the caves north of Auric.” The owl smiled a fierce hunter’s smile. “At nightfall, Camery’s troops will gather on the high ridge above them—where they can come down on Sivich like an owl on a tangle of mice.”

Teb laughed. “And we will be there. We will leave Dacia two hours before dusk, to arrive on the ridge just after dark has fallen.”

Kiri felt her heart ease with the return of Tebriel’s sure, uncomplicated strength.

“I will take the message,” the owl boomed. He swooped to the breakfast table, gulped down half a plate of lamb and wheat cakes, and with one wink at Teb, sped out the door, for Auric.

It was later, as Kiri and Teb knelt on the floor of the hall cutting out harnesses for Bluepiper and for one other young dragon, that she said, yawning, “I need sleep badly. So do you.” When she looked up, she was amazed at the anger in his eyes.

“What did I say?”

“I don’t need sleep. Don’t nag me.”

“I’m not nagging! Of course you need sleep!” She stared at him, crushed. He stared back, furious, but she saw pain deep beneath his anger, and saw confusion at his own temper. Yet when she reached to put her arms around him, he scowled and turned away, his thoughts closed to her. With a final angry glare he rose and left the hall.

She knelt there, staring after him, then followed. But halfway to the door she stopped and stood watching his retreating back. Then she spun around and ran—across the sunlit hall past the staring children, and out into the courtyard and across it. . . .

She burst into the cottage, startling Gram at the cookstove, and threw her arms around her.

When she was done crying, Gram sat her down and gave her tea and fresh bread spread with butter and honey. After finding Kiri a handkerchief, Gram said, “It was bound to happen. Be glad he is a bard.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You wouldn’t want to be in love with an ordinary man. Your father loved an ordinary woman. Life was hard for them. Teb’s mother loved an ordinary man. A king, but ordinary, not a bard. It must have been terrible for him when she left. You love a bard. Be glad.”

Kiri stared at Gram. Love had nothing to do with this; she was only concerned for Teb, frightened at the change in him, hurting at the terrible thing that had happened to him. She shivered and buried her face against Gram’s shoulder, uncertain how she felt.

“It will be all right, Kiri.”

“He’s so angry, Gram. So . . . different.” She didn’t want to say weakened. She didn’t want to say possessed, or remember Quazelzeg’s words . . . The bard is mine now. . . .

Gram held her and didn’t say anything, and after a while she was telling Gram all that had happened in Aquervell, all the terror of Quazelzeg’s terrifying invasion of Teb’s mind.

When she had finished, Gram held her close while she cried again. She had never been one for hysterics. What was the matter with her?

‘Tebriel needs rest, Kiri. Let him be awhile.”

Kiri shivered.

Gram held her away, looking hard at her. “Give Tebriel your faith. And your trust. He is still Tebriel! He fought beside you to save Dacia. He bled in the arena, nearly died there. Oh, Kiri, the terrible twisting of his mind, the pain, the drugs—it will take time for him to heal, but he will heal. Give him time.”

She looked steadily at Gram. “We leave for Windthorst two hours before dusk. To fight Sivich and the dark armies.”

Gram’s look went naked with fear. Then she smiled. ‘Tebriel will be strong. He will be strong, Kiri! And you will be strong, with him. Now, come, you need rest.”

Gram bedded her down on fresh sheets, near the wood fire. “Sleep for a little while. I will wake you in midafternoon.” She kissed Kiri, looking deep into her eyes, and left her.

But Kiri didn’t sleep. She lay awake thinking thoughts that would not let her sleep.

Chapter 19

There are many evils beyond the doors that could destroy me. But to give in to my fear would destroy me without question.

*

When the dragons had fled Quazelzeg’s palace courtyard, the dark leader stood cold with rage that a dragonling had been so nearly captured, then lost. He swore at his inept captains and watched impatiently as the stronger officers tried to strike order.

As officers and troops came to attention, all eyes focused on him. He looked them over, searing his gaze into them until the humans among them flinched.

“You have lost the dragon. You have lost the slaves and the bard children with your clumsiness.” He paused, letting them sweat. No eye dared blink, no hand move.

“You have failed the leaders whom you serve!”

He did not mention Tebriel’s escape. He would have freed Tebriel anyway. The Prince of Auric was his now; Prince Tebriel would do his work now. Quazelzeg smiled. Now, Tebriel himself would help him recapture the bard children and help him snare the dragonling— whether willingly or unknowingly didn’t matter. No distance, now, could destroy his hold over the bard prince.

How interesting the way these things worked out. He had no notion how Tebriel had found out about the captive bard children, but on balance, Quazelzeg knew the dark had gained more than it had lost.

Still, he must have the child bards back. And he would have the dragonling with them.

“Mechek, Igglen, you will take forty men, ready a ship, and go after the bards. You will return to me only when you have the two bard children— and the dragonling.”