Ширли Мерфи - The Ivory Lyre

Kiri sighed. “I guess I miss Papa tonight.”

“He misses you. He’s proud of you, Kiri, and of the work you do.” She held Kiri away and looked at her. “The underground needs you, Kiri, just as it needs Colewolf. You are together in this.”

There were other spies, of course. Two in the palace, and a dozen or so in the city.

“Every spy is important, Kiri. But the dragonbards—you and Colewolf are symbols of the power that once linked us all.”

Kiri nodded. Her tears came suddenly, and she felt ashamed. Papa didn’t cry. Why should she?

“War brings forth strange talents,” Gram said softly. “It brings forth strange feelings, too.” The old woman hugged her, hard. “Come, tell me more about the wonderful horses of Prince Tebmund. I would like to see them working on the training field.”

“Oh, Gram, they are wonders.” Kiri wiped away her tears, sniffing. “I’ve never seen such horses. They will rear and strike an enemy on command, will back and kick, and know all kinds of surprising war tricks. If you will wear your warm shawl, I’ll take you to watch them. You’ll laugh at Sardira’s soldiers trying to keep their seats.”

“You should be riding such horses, not the king’s clumsy troops. Another talent,” Gram said, touching Kiri’s hand, “another talent that will one day know its own.”

It was not until Kiri lay snuggled in bed beneath her thick quilt, leaving Gram nodding beside the fire, that she wondered. What would this war bring forth in herself? What might it force her to discover about herself? Not about the child Kiri, or the woman-to-be Kiri, but about the other, secret Kiri whom she hardly knew—the bard. The one who sang sometimes to the speaking beasts. The Kiri who had such terrible yearnings for a freedom and power that would never be and that she only half understood.

Kiri had made Colewolf smile with pleasure when she sang at the last rebel meeting four months ago in the secret underground cavern of Gardel-Cloor. She had made a small song to bring alive times past—had made whispers echo in the cavern—and the nebulous shadows of people a long time dead.

If she had been paired with a dragon, the shadows would have come to life, blazing into real figures, the voices rung out strongly, the passions and desires of generations become real. But she was only half a power, alone and incomplete. She sighed. She was gifted, yes. Gram forever reminded her that she had special gifts. But what good were they, alone?

There were, in all the world of Tirror as far as Kiri knew, only two other bards besides herself and her father. There was golden-haired Summer, with eyes like the sea. She was a capable spy and had gone as servant in the household of the dark leader Vurbane, on Ekthuma. From there, Summer sent messages home about the movement of the dark armies, about weapons stores and supplies. Summer, too, felt an emptiness because she was dragonbard-born, in a world without dragons.

The other bard was seven-year-old Marshy. Garit and a handful of resistance soldiers had found him as a baby, abandoned in a muddy slew. Little crippled Marshy would not believe there were no more dragons. He insisted on singing his clear-voiced songs that made hazy images of children long vanished, and tore at Kiri’s heart. He spoke of the singing dragons as if one day they would come and lift Tirror out of war. But Marshy was only a little boy and still a terrible dreamer.

What good did it do that there were four bards, when there were no dragons?

Her singing had pleased the troops, though. Maybe it had lightened their spirits. But her powers could wane so quickly. They seemed strongest in the grotto of Gardel-Cloor. Elsewhere on Dacia, the murky confusion the dark laid down was too powerful for her. Then she had only her own eyes and ears and quick feet to help her. She had not even the dimpled smile and naughty eyes of Accacia with which to win people’s confidence. If she had Accacia’s looks, she could be the cleverest spy in all Tirror. And what did Accacia do with her beauty? Nothing of value, only that which brought favors, diamonds, velvet gowns, and the most luxurious apartments in the west tower. Kiri sighed. If she had half Accacia’s looks, she could learn quickly enough all about Prince Tebmund.

Well, the first thing to do was take Gram to watch his horses. If he saw her and Gram admiring them, it would be easier to get acquainted.

*

Kiri and Gram woke to a foggy morning, the rooftops and streets below them smothered in white, the black towers above half hidden. They made their way through the back halls of the palace and behind the stables, beneath the windows of the horsemaster’s apartments, then into the dim almond grove. Across the gaming field, the black stone pergola that housed the king’s viewing box was filled with soldiers and palace guards and ladies. Kiri could see the black-robed king seated in his tall carved chair. All along the stone wall that divided the field from the stables, grooms and pages stood watching. The horsemaster watched from the gate. Kiri made Gram comfortable with the blanket.

The old woman sat entranced as Prince Tebmund galloped the white mare in circles, then with a touch made her run backward. They watched her rear on command and strike out, wheel and kick, duck and drop down crouching as if evading a sword. Kiri longed to have one chance at such a horse and knew Gram felt the same.

When the three mounted soldiers began to try war maneuvers, Gram shook her head. The horses out-turned them and outthought them, yet these men were powerful horse soldiers. Kiri took fine delight in their awkwardness. Gram stared at them with scorn, but her eyes filled with pleasure at the horses and her old hands twitched, yearning to hold the reins. She had been a fine horsewoman in her day. Kiri had brought an image of her once, in a small song sung in privacy and easier to do than bringing a whole city alive. It was of Gram as a young girl, riding a great piebald stallion over hurdles.

They walked home slowly, Kiri awash with regret that the eager old woman was now trapped in that frail, aging body. She wished she could give Gram one wonderful ride on those magical horses. The high road was crowded now, with folk herding sheep and goats, some begging, a few driving loaded carts to the palace kitchens. At home, she settled Gram by the wood stove and heated soup for her, then went out again to tend to Accacia. But when she started up the high road she saw Prince Tebmund on the white mare coming toward her between carts, the foot traffic making way for him.

She ducked in behind some cottages, then wondered at her own timidity. She peered out, unnerved, as he wheeled the mare lightly and trotted back toward the palace. She had botched the perfect opportunity.

She watched him ride through the palace gate, furious at herself. She could not have found a better way to meet Prince Tebmund than here among crowds where it would seem an accident. She had ruined it with her unaccountable, gawking shyness.

Chapter 6

Sour, Seastrider said, staring at the faces they passed along the road. Don’t they know how to smile?

They haven’t much to smile about, Teb said as they turned in through the palace gate. The girl was smiling, the page. She went between the cottages back there, the girl who was watching us from the almond, grove, the one you find so interesting.

The one you find interesting, Tebriel. The girl we just followed down the high road because you wanted to speak to her. Seastrider switched her tail. You already know her name is Kiri. She and that old woman know how to admire a horse, all right. But you have learned little else about her.

Only that she is cousin to Accacia, and that her father was once horsemaster in this palace. Perhaps that is what we see in her, a sympathy and knowledge of fine mounts.