Ширли Мерфи - The Dragonbards

In the small hours, when he saw he could not win, he pretended to falter. He rolled into his blanket and made a skillful vision of sleep.

Seastrider did not sleep. Each time he glanced up, she was watching him.

*

Across the continents the pilgrimage was now a strong army marching steadily north. Slaves had become soldiers. The cats and wolves and otters and foxes hunted food for the humans and shared the children’s beds to warm them. No one was turned away; all had a right to confront the dark on Aquervell.

But the unliving, too, marched north.

*

Quazelzeg was not yet ready for Teb to enter the Castle of Doors. Deftly he wove visions for Tebriel through the power he held over him, renewing the black chambers of confusion that he had erected in Tebriel’s mind and renewing the bard’s drug hunger.

The twisted visions sucked at Teb in grand vistas of power, so he hardly remembered that he and the bards together—or even he and Meriden—might already possess the power to draw the unliving away from Tirror and destroy them. He clung to the grander plan. He fought his confusion sometimes, sweating and trapped in the consuming pit of Quazelzeg’s will. But more often he followed the dark dream. Day came, then night again. He made no move to set out for the mountains. Seastrider did not sleep but watched him steadily. She would not allow him to leave the hill. When dark soldiers skirted the base of the hill, Seastrider drove them off, raging at Teb to fight them.

Teb would not. He turned away from her, nursing his own thoughts. For two days he dreamed his grand dream and longed for the power-strengthening drugs, and waited for Seastrider to sleep. He did nothing to help Meriden.

Late on the second night, when Seastrider could no longer keep awake, when she dozed in spite of a terrible effort of will, Teb moved away from her down the dark, rocky hill. The craving drew him powerfully. If, in some dark recess of his mind, it terrified him, too, he ignored that. The black desire pulled him on, toward the night sounds of Sharden.

Sharden’s streets were narrow, rubbish-strewn, and dim. He stumbled through them eagerly. The city smelled of stale food and animal dung . . . and drugs. Ahead of him, shouting crowds had gathered for some brutal entertainment. Teb hurried to them, drawn by the scent of cadacus.

He found cadacus easily, all he wanted, and licked it from dirty spoons like any drug-ridden creature. Folk watched him, interested. When he was well drugged, they moved in and began to shove and caress him. But when two men ripped his tunic open, he clutched the exposed lyre, shocked into sense—and terror. His tormentors paused, staring at the lyre. Drug-crazy men and women surrounded him, reaching for it.

He backed away from them, protecting the lyre drunkenly. The horde pressed close. He struck the lyre’s strings into harsh music to drive them back. Its power stopped them; they stood shivering and gaping.

But when he turned away, they followed. He fled, reeling, through narrow rubbled streets, using the lyre’s music to drive them back. But as he ran, the lyre suddenly fell silent. The dark hordes gained on him. Thakkur’s warning rang in his head—and a sudden, sick dismay overcame him.

It was thus Seastrider found him, pursued by a lusting rabble through alleys. She dove, tearing down walls to get at him, breaking buildings and driving men back against shattered timbers and into distant streets. He stood watching her sweep toward him and was filled with love for her—and with shame.

She dragged him up into the sky, carried him back to the hill, and dropped him on his blanket. She stood staring down at him, her long green eyes cold with disgust.

“What is your excuse tonight, Tebriel? You were not chained to a table tonight. You were not force-fed cadacus tonight.

“This night’s stupidity was your own doing! Tonight, you used the magical powers of the lyre, which were meant to save our world— you used them to save yourself! To save your own hide from the terrible results of your stupid, blundering weakness!”

He stared up at her, flayed raw by her fury. She didn’t need to be so violent when he felt this sick.

“Why have you come here to Aquervell? Do you remember that, Tebriel?”

“What makes you so angry?”

“You do. Your stupidity does. Your weakness makes me retch with disgust.”

He wanted to slap her. “What do you mean to do about it?”

“It is not what 1 will do about it. It is what you will do. What do you mean to do, Tebriel?”

He looked at her coldly. But he realized, with sick shame, that only Seastrider’s anger kept him from sinking completely under Quazelzeg’s power. When she changed suddenly from anger, and her eyes became dark with hurt, he stared at her, shaken. Her voice became softer and incredibly sad.

“Do you know, Tebriel, how difficult it is for me to rage at you thus? Do you know how it tears at me? I want to comfort you. I want only to curl around you and warm and comfort you.”

He stared at her uneasily—this wasn’t fair.

“The drug hunger possesses you, and I cannot fight it. Kindness cannot fight it. Kindness can only weaken you.”

He started to speak, but her look stopped him.

“Only you can fight this, Tebriel. Only you can defeat it. I cannot.” Her look was the saddest he had ever seen. “If you do not fight it—and win—you will destroy us both. And you will destroy Meriden.”

He felt shame so sharp he could not look at her.

He knew what he must do—now, before he could falter again. He trembled with terror of Quazelzeg and of the dark worlds, and of how the dark might reach him beyond that barrier. But Meriden struggled alone to draw the dark away from Tirror and to stop a larger invasion. He must go there at once, to help her, before his courage failed altogether.

It did not occur to him to wonder why, when Quazelzeg could mold his mind so readily, he still felt driven to go into those distant worlds to help Meriden. Whatever occurred to Seastrider she kept to herself. Perhaps her wisdom told her that not until the challenge was faced could he be free.

As dawn began to lighten the sky, Teb made ready in a dull silence born of drug sickness. Seastrider was quiet. But once he was mounted, she leaped powerfully into the slate-gray sky, pulled fast above the concealing clouds, and swept north.

Chapter 26

Within the Doors, time and distance are as nothing. One can be as close as a breath and as far away as forever. I pray to the Graven Light to help us. I think it is the only power that can.

*

Quazelzeg’s chambers in the palace at Sharden were crusted with jewels stolen from a thousand worlds, his furniture covered with gold leaf and inlaid with platinum, his carpets woven of rare silks and human hair. In the small hours before dawn, he stood among the rich furnishings locked in vision.

He watched Tebriel and his dragon wing north toward the Castle of Doors, and he smiled. The bard had fought a ridiculously heroic battle within himself— and was caught as surely as a fox is caught in a trap.

Young Tebriel wanted to help his mother. How very touching. Oh, yes, the link between mother and son was strong. But Tebriel’s midnight journey into Sharden and his obedience to the dark powers had weakened both of them. Afterward, it had been easy to drive Meriden back when she appeared to him again. She had retreated quickly. Yes, young Tebriel had strengthened the dark’s powers considerably.

Quazelzeg was satisfied that now Meriden no longer had the power to pull him through into other worlds. Now he would enter only as he chose. Very soon, she would no longer hold any barrier against the hordes he would call into Tirror.