Ширли Мерфи - The Dragonbards

Camery laughed and rubbed Iceflower’s nose. “I expect you are. But you will be high above the clouds with your brothers and sister.”

“Why? What use would we be up there?”

“That is the way it will be,” Camery said. “You are our second line. You are to come down only if you are badly needed.”

“But Rockdrumlin has already gone to battle,” Iceflower argued.

“Rockdrumlin carries Charkky and Mikk against Auric Palace. I want the rest of you just where I said. You are very important—you will be there if we need you.”

Iceflower looked at Camery steadily. Camery stared back. At last Iceflower subsided, calmed herself, and gave over to the warmth of the poultices. She had laid her head down, her eyes half closed, when a little cough made them turn.

A white fox stood in the moonlight, a broad grin on his narrow white face, a look of rollicking high spirits. Kiri stifled a shout and grabbed him up in a hug, though she knew it destroyed his dignity.

“Oh, Hexet! It’s so good to see you!”

“Hexet the Thief,” Elmmira said, purring, stroking the fox with a big paw.

Hexet leaped down from Kiri’s arms and began to groom himself, embarrassed at having been held. “The foxes of Nison-Serth are with me,” he said. “They are trying to cheer Tebriel—or at least get him to be civil.”

Kiri said, “He hasn’t had an easy time.”

“Seastrider told us. Pixen is trying to talk to him.”

But when they looked, Teb had walked away from Pixen and all the foxes, was striding away alone, along the ledge. The foxes stood staring after him, dejected, their tails low.

*

Teb paced the cliff, angry and hurting and ashamed. He had never been rude to foxes. The foxes had saved him from capture in the caves of Nison-Serth, he had hidden in their dens and learned their secret ways, and he loved them well. Yet just now he had snapped at them and turned away. A deep hopelessness filled him, as if he could do nothing right—a driving hunger for defeat that made him feel even guiltier.

He stood staring morosely down the mountain, torn with anger and defeat, filled with pain at the little foxes’ hurt.

He knew he had to change the way he was thinking.

He had to gather himself to fight. Despite his twisted thoughts, he burned to kill Sivich. Yet even his rage against Sivich, and his desire to win back Auric, seemed somehow useless.

The waiting for Sivich to move made him even more irritable. The man had to move out soon if he meant to attack Nightpool under darkness. Doubts and dark voices pulled at Teb. He paced the cliff, shunning the others, until well past midnight.

The rushing sound of an owl messenger winging to them stirred him. A big barn owl dropped down out of the wind, straight for Camery.

“He’s saddling up,” the masked owl whispered, “saddling up—moving out. . . .”

Word sped among the troops. Below the cliff they could hear the hushing of hooves as Sivich’s mounted troops headed their horses toward the open plain. The rebel troops followed, working their way down the dark cliff.

When Seastrider nudged him, Teb swung to her back, slipped, then righted himself and swung up. He felt Kiri and Camery watching him. He sat on Seastrider scowling as the dragons rose on silent wings into the moonlit sky. They made straight up, to lift above the blowing clouds, out of sight.

Sivich had moved well away from the mountain, and the rebel troops were still hidden within the mountain’s shadow, when the dragons dropped low and began to sing.

Dragon song shattered the night. Its images moved across the plain, filling the minds of Sivich’s troops as water will fill empty bowls. A phantom sun spun to life, to brighten the valley. And the valley was peopled with riders from long-past generations. Sivich’s soldiers stopped their horses, stared around them, and cried out as daylight flamed across the plain and the images of men and women and children traveled past them, laughing and calling to one another. They watched as the phantom travelers made camp.

They saw herders ringing bells that brought their sheep and goats galloping to cluster around them. They saw children harvesting wild grains with magical knives that cut the wheat by themselves. They saw a trading market, and so real was the vision that Sivich’s soldiers dismounted and wandered among stalls of bright wares. They examined silk gowns that held the enchantments of love, tunics that would turn away any weapon, clay jugs of wine that would never grow empty. They stared into laughing, happy faces filled with a well-being that they had never felt.

Sivich’s soldiers watched water wizards make springs bubble up from dry ground; they saw a woman who wanted music hold up her hand so that the birds came flocking and singing.

Sivich’s dark captains shouted and pulled the staring men to the ground and beat them, but the men paid little attention. They rose again, to move within the dragon vision. They saw, for the first time in their lives, folk with Tirror’s magic still on them, folk who were free and were their own masters. In the bright visions spun by dragons and bards, Sivich’s dull soldiers saw a life they had never dreamed possible.

They had been cheated: The dark had taken their pasts and their freedom. They stared up at the dragons circling above them and understood what dragon song did—it gave them back themselves.

They knew, for the first time, that they need not follow the slave masters.

Not all the soldiers woke from their enslavement. Some were too far gone in the dark power. Those who did wake drew their swords and spurred their mounts and rode down their dark masters. Camery’s troops, and the dragons, came storming to fight beside them. The awakened rebels slaughtered dark soldiers. Owls dove into the faces of terrified horses to stampede them. Great cats and wolves leaped for screaming riders. On the outskirts of battle, otters and foxes waited for those who escaped on foot. But in the confusion, five dark leaders spun their horses and sped away south, Sivich among them. Only Camery saw. . . .

Sivich, she shouted. Sivich escapes. She swung her sword wide as Nightraider came down over two escaping captains. She cut one from the saddle as Colewolf slew the other. Ahead of them, Sivich fled.

He’s mine! Teb shouted. Seastrider dove for Sivich’s broad, humped shoulders. All confusion left Teb, his mind was clear and intent. With one hard thrust, his sword ran Sivich through. He pulled Sivich across his lap and stared down with triumph.

“I am Tebriel of Auric! Do you remember me?”

Sivich stared, his eyes bulging.

“You murdered my father. You kept me as slave. Do you remember me now? You murdered the King of Auric. Now I am King of Auric! Do . . . you . . . remember . . . me?”

Sivich gasped for breath, his lips white.

Get on with it. Seastrider said. Finish him.

Why should I hurry? I’m enjoying this.

That is just the point, Tebriel. Too much pleasure in the killing.

He killed my father. He took cold pleasure in that. Mind your own business.

This is my business. You don’t need to enjoy killing so much.

Teb ignored her and watched with cold satisfaction as Sivich struggled. “Look on my face, killer of my father. His death was painful, and so will yours be. Perhaps you enjoy the kiss of the shark—for it is the sharks of the sea that will have you.”

Seastrider swept out past the surf, and Teb dumped Sivich into the sea far from shore. They saw the big sharks gather. “All right,” Teb said. “They’ll finish him—get moving.”

But Seastrider didn’t race for the fighting; she slowed, slipping on the wind, turning to look back at him. “What is it, Tebriel? Something terrible pulls at you.”